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THE  DISOWNED.  A  Novel.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  [By 
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poetry  of  feeling."— 7^  AlUmu 

FALKLAND.  A  Novel.  [By  tne  Author  of  '  Pelham,' 
'  The  Disowned,' '  Devereux,'and  '  Paul  Clifford.']  [Ste- 
reotyped.] 

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Court  Journal. 

SKETCHES  OF  IRISH  CHARACTER.  By  Mrs. 
S.  C.  Hall.     12rao. 

**  The  best  book  since '  Devereux' .  .  .  These  Sketcljes  are  much  in  the  manner  of  Miss  Mitford, 
with  the  additional  merit  of  being  more  strictly  correct  in  point  of  lilseness."— r/ic  Mirror. 

WAVERLEY;  or,  'Tis  Sixty  Years  Since.  A  Novel. 
In  2  vols.  12mo.  Revised,  corrected,  and  enlarged,  by 
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***  Harper's  stereotype  edition  of  Waverley  contains  upwards  of  thirteen  thmisand  words, 
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BEATRICE  ;  a  Tale  founded  on  Facts.  By  Mrs.  Hof- 
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Minor. 

LAWRIE  TODD ;  or,  The  Settlers  in  the  Woods.  By 
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"  The  Ayrshire  Legatees,"  &c.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 


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TRAITS  OF  TRAVEL.     A  Novel.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 
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THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A  KING'S   PAGE.     A 

Novel.     In  2  vols.  12ino. 


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STORIES  OF  A  BRIDE.    By  the  Author  of  «  The 
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"  These  are  ammated  and  very  amusing  Stories."— Court  Journal, 

RYBRENT  DE  CRUCE.      A  Novel.      In  2  vols. 
12rao. 

"  This  Novel  fa  one  of  the  most  intelligent  and  interesting  that  the  season  has  produced."— 
Cdtut  Journal. 
"  This  is  a  very  clever  Novel.— The  Author  is  one  from  whom  we  eicpect  much  entertainment." 
Literary  Gazette, 

PRIVATE  LIFE.     A  Novel.     In  2  vols,  i     no. 

*  Aclmtrable  Tolumes,  vith  all  po&sible  claim  to  attention . . .  .  IMb  a  work  of  whose  talent  asd 
utility  its  author  may  be  justly  proud."— Xondon  Literary  Gazette. 

THE    LAST    OF    THE    PLANTAGENETS.      An 

Historical   Romance.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  Tnese  volumes  contain  one  of  the  most  faithful  and  delicate  narralives  that  the  whole  library 
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monastic  quietness,  the  unatlected  tenderness,  and  the  repose  of  the  incidents,  must  render  thiji 
work  a  permanent  favourite  \\ith  all  readers  of  taste  and  feeling." — Atlas. 

"**  The  Last  of  Vie  Plantagencts  is  written  by  one  evidently  master  of  his'subject,  who  must  have 
turned  over  many  a  ponderous  volume  for  the  sake  of  the  lighter,  bat  much  more  valuable  ones 
before  us."— iiJ.  Gazette. 

STRATTON  HILL.  A  Tale  of  the  Civil  Wars.  In 
2  vols.  12mo. 

*'  There  is  a  considerable  share  of  talent  displayed  in  these  voltmies,  and  they  also  bear  evidence 
of  some  research  and  industry.  The  scenes  which  the  author  has  chosen  for  the  location  of  his 
cliaracters  and  incidents,  are  new,  and  as  yet  untouched." — New-Yoi'k  Mirror. 

—— "  Very  elegantly  written — fortunate  too,  in  having  its  author's  haunted  ground,  Cornwall,,  ui> 
trodden — blending  historical  information  with  antiquarian  exactness — treating  of  a  most  excitiog 
period— we  cannot  but  highly  conmieud  Stratton  Hill. " — London  Litaary  Gazette. 

THE  SCHOOL  OF  FASHION.  A  Novel.  In  2 
vols.  12mo. 

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many  hints  that  ought  not  to  be  thrown  away."— XiYerajT/  Gazette. 

"  This  novel  originated  in  a  conversation  at  one  of  the  late  soirees  at  Devonshire  House,  in 
which  one  of  the  parUes  (a  Countess)  happening  to  say  that  in  all  the  fashionable  novels  extant, 
the  main  features  of  high  life  had  not  been  fully  developed,  was  challenged  to  write  a  story 
hereelf.  The  fair  lady  undertook  the  ta^k  acconiingly,  and  we  are  pleased  in  being  able  to  ay, 
that  in  its  performance,  ihe  has  succeeded  to  admiration." — Times. 

TALES  OF  MILITARY  LIFE.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 
By  the  Author  of  "  The  Military  Sketch  Book." 

"The  principal  scene  of  this  very  striking  narration  is  in  Ireland,  and  the  incidents  are  connect* 
ed  with  those  stirring  times  in  which  the  celebrated  Emniet  bore  so  conspicuous  a  part-  The 
mysteries— the  riots — the  strange  history  of  the  hero,  and  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the  charafr 
ters,  irresistibly  fir  the  attention  of  the  reader;  and  while  the  military  portion  of  the  incidents  is 
rendered  prominent,  the  political  and  romuitic  featiu'es  assist  in  the  general  attraction  and  eflfect'." 

New  Monthly  Mi£azine, 

THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL,  and  AUCHIN- 
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THE  OXONIANS.  A  Novel.  In2vols.  12mo.  By 
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SOUTHENNAN.     A  Novel.     In  2  vols.    12mo.     By 
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'of  the  Parish,"  &c.  &c. 

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LIFE  OF  MANSIE  WAUCH,  Tailor  in  Dalkeith. 
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ROMANCE  OF  HISTORY.  Second  Series.  SPAIN. 
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THE  SUBALTERN'S  LOG  BOOK.  A  Novel.  In 
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FOSCARINI.    A  Novel.    In  2  vols.  12mo. 

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HAJJI  BABA.    A  Novel.    In  2  vols.  12mo. 

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NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  INSECTS.  Embellished 
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OVID  DELPHINI,  and  SMART'S  HORACE.  Cor- 
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COMPLETE  WORKS  of  Dr.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

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CLOUDESLEY.  A  Novel.  In  3  vols.  ISrao.  By 
the  Author  of  "  Caleb  Williams,"  &c. 

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ciety,  and  surpass  ihe  inventioa  of  fiction.  There  is  no  writer  who  knows  so  well  how  to  deal 
with  these  as  Mr.  Godwin;  the  denouement  aud  catasti-ophe  of  the  present  tale  are,  perhapij 
without  parallel  in  their  iiupressive  character." — Chronicle, 

THE  LOST  HEIR ;   and  THE  PREDICTION.     A 

Novel.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  One  of  the  best  tolJ  tales  we  have  met  with  for  some  time.  The  Story  is  an  excellent  on^ 
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THE  COUNTRY  CURATE.  By  the  Author  of 
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I*  This  is  a  book  as  soothing  and  consolatory,  by  the  wilJuess  and  beauty  of  the  spirit  in  which 
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interest  of  tne  materials  of  which  it  is  composed."— S'/'eciafor. 

TALES  OF  THE  WEST.  By  the  Author  of  "  Letters 
from  the  East,"  &c.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"We  have  perused  this  work  with  much  CTriiification.  The  lansTiage  is  chaste  and  impressWe— 
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TALES  AND  SKETCHES.  By  a  Country  School- 
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scenery  are  peculiarly  graphic,  vivid,  and  poetical,  and  his  conception  of  character,  particularly  fe 
male  character,  beautifiil.  In  tbis  item  of  authorship,  our  pedagogue  is  superior  to  Cooper ;  in  hia 
nautical  descriptions  nearly  or  quite  equal." — A'.  F.  Minor, 

STORIES  OF  WATERLOO,  and  other  Tales.  In 
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PEACE  CAMPAIGNS  OF  A  CORNET.  A  Novel- 
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*'  It  is  full  of  stories,  and  told  in  exactly  that  manner  which  will  render  it  highly  popular.  Itg 
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ST.  VALENTINE'S  DAY;  or,  THE  FAIR  MAID 
OF  PERTH.  Being  S^^cond  Series  of  "  Chronicles  of 
Canongate."    By  the  Auiiorof  Waverley.    2vols.  12mo. 

ALMACK'S  REVISITED;  or,  HERBERT  MILTON. 
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APICIAN  MORSELS.  A  Comical  Work.  With 
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Works  Recently  Pubhshea* 

THE  HISTORICAL  WORKS  of  the  Rev.  WILLUM 
ROBERTSON,  D.D.;  comprising  his  HISTORY  of 
AMERICA;  CHARLES  V.;  SCOTLAND,  andlNDI A. 

In  3  vols.  8vo.     Embellished  with  Plates. 

Harper's  edition  of  these  valuable  standard  works  is  far  superor,  in  every  rcBpect,  to  any  other 
edition  ever  pubhslted  id  Ihis  country ;  aud  is  to  be  preferred  to  Jones's  DDiversity  edition,  as  the 
type  is  larger,  the  printing  and  piper  are  equally  good,  and  tliey  are  sold  for  less  than  the  cash 
price  of  tb^t  coadeufied  edition.  £ach  volume  is  a  separate  history  in  itnell';  aod  may  be  porchaseA 
•epajately)  or  bound  uxiifonuly  with  the  other  volumes  iu  sets. 

GIBBON'S  HISTORY  of  the  DECLINE^ andTFALt 
of  the  ROMAN  EMPIRE.   In4vols.  8vo.   With  Plates. 

Harper's  edition  of  Gibbon's  History  is  stereotyped,  and  great  care  has  been  taien  to  render  i' 
correct  and  perfect.  The  dates  originally  introduced  by  the  author  are  preserved  in  the  Tabltw  • 
Contents  prefixed  to  the  Volumes,  and  also  embodied  lu  the  text.  This  will  render  tho  pr^^^f 
edition  decidedly  preicrable  to  the  English  edition  in  foux  volumes,  as  in  the  latter  the  dates  afh' 
Tables  of  Contents  axe  entirely  omitted. 

HOOPER'S  MEDICAL  DICTIONARY.  From  the 
last  London  Edition.  With  Additions,  by  Samuel  Aker- 
ly,  M.D.    8vo. 

In  order  to  render  this  stereotjrpe  edition  of  Hooper's  Medical  Dicthnary  mnre  acceptable  to 
Che  medical  public  of  the  United  States,  considerable  additions  have  been  made,  paLrticuUrly  on 
Materia  JVIedica,  Mineralogy,  Botuiy,  Chemistry,  Biography,  ic.  &c. 

GOOD'S  (Dr.  John  Mason)  STUDY  OF  MEDICINE. 

In  5  vols.  8vo.     A  new  edition  (Oct.  1829).  With  addi- 
tions by  Samuel  Cooper,  M.D. 

"Dr.  Grood's  extensive  reading  and  retentive  niemery  enaole  him  to  enliven  the  most  common 
•lementary  aetails,  by  interweaving  curious,  uncou.mon,  or  illustrative  exainplea  in  almost  every 
page. — Wf  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncina;  the  work,  beyond  all  cooiparistm,  ttio  best  of  the  kinl 
in  the  English  lauguage.  With  the  naval,  the  military,  the  provincial,  and  Ihr  colonial  practitioner, 
the  worlt  before  us  ought  at  once  to  supersede  the  uiacicnli&  compilation  of  Dr.  Thomas — and  A 
will  do  io,"~Medico-Ckirurg.  Kevicio, 

THE  BOOK  OF  NATURE ;  bemj?  a  popular  Illustra- 
tion of  the  general  Laws  and  Phenomena  of  Creation,  iu 
its  Unc organized  and  Organized,  its  Corporeal  and  Mental 
Departments.  By  John  Mason  Good,  M.D.  and  F.R.S. 
In  one  vol.  8vo. 

"  — tte  work  js  ccrtsiulv  the  best  philosophical  digest  of  tho  kind  which  we  have  seen." 

London  Monthly  Raiiite, 

GIBSON'S  SURVEYING.  Improved  and  enlarged. 
By  James  Ryan,  Teacher  of  Mathematics,  &c.  8vo. 

HISTORICAL  VIEW  of  the  LITERATURE  of  the 
SOU'I'H  OF  EUROPE.  By  M.  De  Sismondi.  Trans- 
lated  from  the  Original,  witli  Notes.  By  Thomas  Ros- 
coe,  Esq.     In  2  large  vols.  8vo. 

"This  is  a  valuable  ahd  inltri-slinR  wiTk.  It  preaenlsa  bmad  and  general  view  of  (hefiHtnd 
jroKTess  of  iiio'lcni  liientturc,  «liith  will  he  read  by  those  Who  arc  uiuafornie4  oo  ti«  subjeol 
Wllil  efjual  gi-aiilicatiou  acd  iiriprovemcat." — New  Timet 


Works  Recently  Published. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  JEWS:  (Nos.  I.  H.  &  HI. 

of  the  Family  Library.)  By  the  Rev.  H.  H.  Milman.  In 
3  volumes,  l8mo.  Illustrated  with  original  Maps  and 
Woodcuts. 

*  The  Editors  have  been  most  fortimate  in  enga^ng  on  this  work  the  pen  of  a  scholar,  both 
classical  and  scriptural,  and  so  eleg^ant  and  powerful  a  writer,  as  the  Foetry  Professor.  Few  theolo- 
gical works  of  this  order  have  appeared  either  in  ours  or  in  any  other  language.  To  the  ChristiMi 
reader  of  every  age  and  sex^and  we  may  add  of  every  ject — 'i  will  -ja  a  source  of  tlie  purest  de- 
light, instruction,  and  Lomtort :  and  ot  llie  iufii«e!s  who  open  it  nitrely  *•*%{  they  may  not  remain 
Id  ignorance  of  a  work  placed  by  general  consent  in  the  rank  of  an  English  classic,  is  there  not 
every  reason  tn  hope  that  many  will  lay  it  down  in  a  far  diilerent  mood  ?'' 

Blackwoo(Va  Masaxine., 

"  Though  the  subject  is  trite,  the  manner  of  treating  it  is  such  as  to  command  our  deepest  atten 
tion.  While  the  work  has  truth  and  simplicity  rnou^h  to  fascinate  a  child,  it  is  written  with 
a  masterliness  of  the  subject  and  an  elegance  of  composiiion  that  will  please  tlie  most  refined  auil 
fafltidious  reader."— £iii»6.  Saturday's  Post. 


"The  most  pr.pular  history  of  the  sons  of  Israel  that  has  hitherto  been  published.  The  highest 
euconium  we  can  pass  upon  the  work  under  notice  is  to  urge  its  purcl.ase,  from  a  conviction  of  its 
striking  and  permanent  worth." — Berkshire  Chronicle, 

"The  woik  is  admirably  adapted  for  the  instmction  of  youth." — Sheffield  Courant. 

"We  are  acquainted  with  no  work  which  we  can  more  heartily  recommend  to  our  readers; 
to  the  younger  part  of  them  especially,  we  are  sure  it  will  [,rove  a  most  acceptable  present." 

Literary  Gazette. 

"TJ«  narrative  of  the  various  and  highly  interesting  events  in  that  period  flows  on  in  a  chaste 
style;  and  a  Uiorough  knowledge  of  his  suLJ^ct  is  eviden*  in  every  page.  The  work  is  spirited 
well  arranged,  and  full  of  information,  and  of  a  wise  and  well  cultivated  religious  spirit." 

AthcnsEum. 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  to  the  Christian  reader,  of  every  age  and  sex,  it  will  be  a  source 
of  the  purest  delighf,  instruction,  and  comfort." — Cork  Scrathern  R/iporter, 

"  It  is  one  cf  those  rare  publications  which  unite  all  the  attraction  of  novelty,  and  all  the  beantie* 
of  finished  and  spirited  composition. — We  cannot  close  without  strongly  recommending  the  His- 
tory of  the  Jews  as  a  work  equally  enter*aiiiing  to  age  and  instructive  to  youth,  alie  acceptable 
*o  the  ignorant,  and  to  be  perused  with  pleasure  by  the  learned."— Tyn*  Afercury. 

THE  EXCLUSIVES.    A  Novel.    In  2  vols.  12mo. 

**  *  The  Exc'usives'  will  excite  more  attention  than  any  work  of  a  similar  class  has  done  since 
'Tremaine.'  It  will  do  this  for  several  reasons;  partly  from  its  name— still  more  from  the 
curiosity  which  has  been  raised  respecting  the  alleged  eminent  station  of  its  writer— but  most  of 
all  from  its  intrinsic  qualities  and  characteristics.  ■  The  Exctusives'  is  emphatically,  and  '  exclu- 
sively,* a  picture  of  fashionable  life  in  the  present  day.     It  is  written  with  great  general  ability 

with  a  fine  sense  of  the  mixed  motives  of  human  action,  sf>  far  as  its  obseri-atioiia  extend with  a 

sufficient  iusisjht  into  thp  leading  and  permanent  passions  and  affecuDns  of  the  hi^art — with  a  per- 
fect knowledge  of  tlie  society  in  which  all  its  scenes  P'e  placed— and  finally,  with  an  air  of  supe* 
riority  over  all  the  matters  which  compose  tliose  scenes,  and  the  persons  who  frequent  them." 

Court  Journal, 

THE  RIVALS.  A  Novel.  By  the  Author  of  «  The 
Collegians,''^  &c.     In  2  volumes,  12mo. 

"  For  touches  nl  ^euuine  pathos,  simplicity,  acd  mist  hislily-wron^ht  interest,  wc  make  ctm- 
ti^n  if  any  thin?  of  •he  kuid  ever  took  precfdeiicy  nf  the  .sinries  of  this  writer  ;  and  their  e'ffect 
n.ust  be  to  raise  their  voung  author  high  in  ttie  raiili  of  illustrious  names,  nov  securely  established 
ill  the  records  of  literature,  and  highest  of  all  in  the  annals  of  precocious  genius." 

"  We  canntt  help  saying,  that  we  consider  these  Tales  as  among  the  most  deeply  interesting  of 
contemporary  roirances.'* 

"  Tliev  place  their  author  on  a  level  with  the  most  spirited  painter  of  national  maauen  in  our 
language.'-^Fiiie  iitcroiT/  Gazette,  2'iines,Jtlas,  Traveller,  he.  &C. 

LAWRIE  TODD;  or,  The  Settlers  in  the  Woods. 
By  John  Gait,  Esq.  Auth'trof  "The  Annals  of  the  Parish," 
"  The  Ayrshire  Legatees,"  &c.     In  2  vols.  12ino. 

^  To  the  numerous  admirers  of  Mr.  Gait's  previous  works,  we  can  confidently  saj,  his  youngest 
child  is  likely  tu  s^iare'the  general  fate  of  the  youngest — that  of  being  a  favourite.'* — LiU  GazetU, 


Works  Recently  Published. 

DOMESTIC  DUTIES;  or  Instructions  to  Married 
Ladies.  By  Mrs,  William  Parkes,  In  1  vol.  12rao» 
[Stereotyped.] 

"The  Toliune before  us  is  one  of  those  practical  works,  vrhich  are  of  real  value  and  utilify. 
It  is  a  perfect  vade  niecum  tor  the  married  lady^  who  may  resort  to  it  on  all  questions  of  household 
economy  and  etiquette— There  is  nothing  omitted  with  which  it  behooves  a  lady  to  be  ac- 
quainted."— New  Monthly  Mag, 

THE  COOK'S  ORACLE,  AND  HOUSEKEEPER'S 
MANUAL.  By  William  Kitchiner,  M.D.  Adapted  to 
the  American  Public,  by  a  Medical  GGiitlenian.  I2mo. 
[Stereotyped.] 

"  This  is  a  very  good  book — not  calculated,  as  many  may  suppose,  to  promote  luxury  and 
excess  in  eatine,  but  imparting  information  that  will  enable  housekeepers  to  diminish  their  ex- 
penses, while  they  add  to  their  enjoyments." — N.  F.  American. 

"Dr.  Kitchiner's  Manual,  combining,  as  it  does,  for  every  rank  of  life,  all  that  is  useful  in 
domestic  arran^emejits,  with  much  that  is  aniusmg,  will,  we  venture  to  say,  be  in  possession  of 
every  one  that  can  possibly  obtain  it.  The  poor  mau  will  stion  gnin  from  its  maxims  of  frugality 
more  thai!  its  cost,  and  the  rich  will  find  its  price  tenfold  in  the  increased  delicacies  of  his  table." 

jV.  T.  Courier  at^  Enquirer, 

ENGLISH  SYNONYMES,  with  copious  Illustrations 
and  Explanations,  drawn  from  the  best  Writers.  By 
George  Crabb,  M.A.  A  new  Edition,  enlarged.  8vo. 
[Stereotyped.] 

"The  work  is  valuable  to  every  reader j  but  it  is  precious  to  tlie  student,  and  almost  indifr. 
pensable  to  the  public  writer." — N'.  Y.  Merc  Adv% 

LIFE  OF  LORD  BYRON.  By  Thomas  Moore,  Esq. 
In  2  vols.  8vo.     With  a  Portrait.     [Stereotyped.] 

"  This  is  the  best  piece  of  biography  of  modern  days,  not  excepting  Southey'sXife  of  Nelson, 
or  Lockbat's  splendid  biography  of  BarasJ'^—Blackwood^s  Magazine. 

THE  HISTORICAL  WORKS  of  the  Rev.  WILLIAM 
ROBERTSON,  D.D. ;  comprising  his  HISTORY  of 
AMERICA;  CHARLES  V.;  SCOTLAND,  and  INDIA. 

In  3  vols.  8vo.    Embellished  with  Plates.     [Stereotyped.] 

Harper's  edition  of  these  valuable  standard  Trorks  is  far  superior,  in  e\er^  respect,  to  any  other 
edition  ever  published  in  this  country ;  and  is  to  be  preferred  to  Jones's  University  edition,  as  tb« 
type  is  larger,  the  printing aud  paper  are  equally  ;;nod,  and  they  are  sold  for  less  than  the  cish  price 
of  that  condensed  edition.  Each  voluiiie  is  a  separate  history  iu  itself;  and  may  be  purctiased 
separately,  or  boimd  uniformly  with  the  other  volumes  in  sets. 

GIBBON'S  HISTORY  of  the  DECLINE  and  FALL 
of  the  ROMAN  EMPIRE.  In  4  vols.  8vo.  With  Plates. 
[Stereotyped.] 

Harper's  edition  of  Gibbon's  Hisinry  is  stereotyped,  and  great  care  has  been  taken  to  render  it 
correct  and  perfect.  The  dates  originally  in(rnduce/i  \>y  the  author  are  preserved  in  the  TaWes  of 
Contents  prefixed  to  the  Vidutnes,  and  also  imhodied  in  the  text.  This  will  render  the  present 
clition  decidedly  preferable  to  the  English  edition  in  four  volumes,  as  in  the  latter  (be  dates  and 
Tables  of  Contents  axe  entirely  omitted. 

COOPER'S  SURGICAL  DICTIONARY.  In  3  vols. 
8vo.  Greatly  improved  and  enlarged  by  the  Authort 
[Stereotyped.] 

Recently  revised  by  Mr.  Cooper,  and  contains  above  two  hundred  paget^of  matter  eiitire\y 
original}  begidGS  aumcrous  notes  from  American  Surgeon*. 


Works  Recently  Published* 

GOOD'S  (Dr.  John  Mason)  STUDY  OF  MEDICINE. 
In  5  vols.  8vo.  A  new  edition.  With  additions  by 
Samuel  Cooper,  M.D. 

*'Dr.  Good's  extensive  reading  and  retentive  memory  enable  him  to  enliven  the  most  common 
elementary  details,  by  in'erweaving  curious,  uncomnmn,  or  illusirative  examples  in  almost  every 
page.— We  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  the  work,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  best  of  the 
kind  in  the  English  language.  Wilh  the  nival,  the  militar>-,  the  provincial,  and  the  colonial 
practitioner,  the  work  befoie  us  ought  at  once  to  supersede  the  unscientific  compilation  of  Dr. 
XhomLas— and  it  will  do  so." — MedicO'C'hirurg.  Review. 

THE  WORKS  of  the  Rev.  JOHN  WESLEY,  A.M. 
With  his  LIFE,  Complete  in  10  vols.  8vo.  From  the 
last  London  Edition.     With  a  Portrait. 

These  Works  should  form  a  part  of  every  Christianas  library ;  and  to  the  Methodist  they  are  in- 
dispensable. The  Sfrmons  are  comprised  in  three  volumes— the  Miscellaneous  Works  aXso  la 
thvee  volumes — and  the  Journal  in  four  volumes.     Each  Work  may  be  obtained  separately. 

PRESENT  STATE   OF  CHRISTIANITY,  and  of 

the  Missionary  Establishments  for  its  Propagation,  in  all 
Parts  of  the  World.  Edited  by  Frederic  Schoberl.  12mo. 

Schoberl's  work  on  the  "  Present  State  of  Christ ianitj'"  is  highly  spoken,  of,  and  contains  a  com- 
ptJdimji  of  Missionary  exertions  from  the  earliest  ages  ot  Christianity  to  the  present  times.  It  is 
a  work  which  maybe  consulted  with  advantage  by  all  denominaiious;  as  it  is  written  with  a 
truly  Christian  spirit,  and  gives  dus  credit  to  every  sect  for  their  exertions  and  labours.  The  work 
is  concise,  giving  a  summary,  or  the  result,  of  Missionary  labours  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  con- 
tains the  muitum  i/i  parvo, 

LETTERS  FROM  THE  jEGEAN.  By  James  Emer- 
son, Esq.     In  1  vol.  8vo. 

"  The  work  of  Mr.  Emerson  is  replete  with  amusement  from  first  to  last ;  it  contains  much 
valuable  historic  and  political  information  ;  but  is  principally  deserving  of  praise  for  the  accuracy 
of  its  remarks  on  human  life,  and  the  thousand  interesting  narratives  fay  which  these  are  illustrated.^ 

Acw-York  Critic, 

THE  LITERARY  REMAINS  OF  THE  LATE 
HENRY  NEELE,  Author  of  the  "  Romance  of  His- 
tory," &c.  &c. — consisting  of  Lectures  on  English  Po- 
etry, Tales,  and  other  Miscellaneous  Pieces  m  Prose  and 
Veise.     8vo. 

"  The  work  is  one  well  calculated  to  repay  aa  attentive  perusal,  and  caimot  but  prove  highly 
flatertaiuiug  to  every  reader." — New-York  Critic 

RELIGIOUS  DISCOURSES.  By  a  LAYMAN.  Se- 
cond Edition.     18mo. 

"Tlieee  Sermons  are  remarkable,  as  a  literary  curiosity.    The  work  will  be  read  withavidi^ 
for  thousands  are  doulitless  ansious  to  be  iuformed  ot  Sir  Waller's  opinions  in  matters  of  reli- 
gion."— New  Monthly  Masazine. 

ELEMENTS  OF  SURVEYING.  With  Copperplate 
Engravings.  By  Charles  Da  vies.  Professor  of  Mathe- 
matics, U.  S.  Military  Academy.    8vo. 

A'.TABLE  OF  LOGARITHMS,  of  Logarithmic  Sines, 
and  a  Traverse  Table.     12ino. 

These  Tables  being  stereotyped,  no  pains  or  expense  have  been  spared  to  render  them  perfectly 
eorrect. 


Works  Recently  Published. 

SKETCHES  of  the  LIVES  of  the  SIGNERS  of  the 
DECLARATION  of  INDEPENDENCE.     12mo.     By 

N.  DwioHT.     [Stereotyped.] 

THE  NORTHERN  TRAVELLER,  combined  with 
the  Northern  Tour.  Embellished  with  numerous  Cop- 
perplate Engravings,  18mo. 

GIBSON'S  SURVEYING.  Improved  and  enlarged. 
By  James  Ryan.     8vo. 

This  is  now  the  only  etiition  of  Gibson's  Surveying  published  in  fhe  United  States,  and  is  accom- 
panied with  all  the  necessary  Tables  and  Engravings,  and  sold  at  a  very  reduced  price. 

BROWN'S  DICTIONARY  OF  THE  HOLY  BIBLE. 

From  the  last  genuine  Edinburgh  edition.     8vo* 

This  edition  contains  the  Author's  last  additions  and  corrections,  and  farther  enlarged  and  cor 
rected  hy  his  Sons ;  with  a  Life  of  the  Author ;  and  an  Essay  on  the  Evidence  of  Christianity. 

A  CONCORDANCE  to  the   HOLY    SCRIPTURES 

of  the  OLD  and  NEW  TESTAMENTS ;  by  the  Rev. 
John  Brovi^n,  of  Haddmgton.  Printed  on  Diamond  type, 
in  the  32mo.  form.    [Stereotyped.] 

This  convenient  and  beautiful  little  pocket,  volume  contains,  verbatim,  the  'lame  as  the 
original  duodecimo  edition. 

SERMONS  ON  IMPORTANT  SUBJECTS,  by  the 
late  Rev.  and  pious  Samuel  Davies,  A.M.,  some  time 
President  of  the  College  of  New-Jersey.     In  3  vols.  8vo. 

To  this  edition  are  prefixed,  Memoirs  and  Character  of  the  Author  j  and  two  Sermons  on  occasion 
of  his  Death,  by  the  Rev.  Urs.  Bibbou  and  Finley,  and  contains  all  the  Author's  Sermo'fis  ever 
published. 

VAN  HALEN'S  NARRATIVE  of  his  Imprisonment 
in  the  Dungeons  of  the  Inquisition,  his  Escape,  his  Jour- 
ney to  Madrid,  &c.  &c.     8vo. 

TALES  OF  A  GRANDFATHER.  By  Walter  Scott, 
Bart.     First,  Second,  and  Third  Series. 

LIFE  AND  REMAINS  OF  DR.  EDWARD  DANIEL 
CLARKE.     8vo. 

THE  CONDITION  OF  GREECE.  By  J.  P.  Miller. 
12mo.     With  a  Map. 

THE  RIVALS  OF  ESTE,and  OTHER  POEMS.  By 
James  G.  Brooks  and  Mary  E.  Brouks.     12mo. 

"  Tlie  lovers  of  ii.ipassioned  and  classical  numbers  may  promise  themselves  much  gratification 
fVnm  the  uiuse  of  Brooks,  while  the  many ■striiif^ed  h.Txp  of  his  ladv,  the  Noma  of  the  Courier," 
llarp,  wliich  none  but  she  cau  siveep,  haa  a  churi  for  even'  heart.''— iV.  V.  Mercantile  Aiu. 


Works  Recently  Published. 

HOOPER'S  MEDICAL  DICTIONARY.  From  the 
last  London  Edition.  With  Additions,  by  Samuel  Akerly, 
M.D.     8vo.     [Stereotyped.] 

In  order  to  rentier  this  stereolj-pe  editiou  of  Hooper's  Medical  Dictionary  more  acceptable  to  the 
medical  public  of  the  United'  States,  considerable  additions  have  been  made,  particularly  on 
Materia  Medica,  Mineralog:\-,  Botany,  Chemistry,  Biography,  &c.  &c 

THE  BOOK  OF  NATURE ;  being  a  popular  Illus- 
tration of  the  general  Laws  and  Phenomena  of  Creation, 
&c.  By  John  Mason  Good,  M.D.  and  F.R.S.  8vo. 
[Stereotyped.] 

"  — The  work  is  certainly  the  best  pliilosophical  digest  of  the  kind  which  we  have  seen." 

London  Monthly  Review. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  MODERN  EUROPE,  from  the 
rise  of  the  Modern  Kingdoms  to  the  present  period.  By 
William  Russell,  LL.D.,and  William  Jones,  Esq.  With 
Annotations  by  an  American.  In  3  vols.  8vo.  [Stereo- 
typed— nearly  ready.] 

This  History  of  Modem  Europe  being  universally  considered  a  very  valuable  as  well  as  a  very 
interettins;  work,  the  publishers  have  stereotj-ped  it  uniform  with  the  historical  works  of  Robertson 
and  Gibbon. — It  will  be  comprised  in  thrte  octavo  volumes,  erabeUisbed  with  copperplate  en- 
gravings, and  executed,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  it  wortliy  the  palrona^  of  the  American 
puhlic 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  JEWS:  (Nos.  I.  H.  and 
in.  of  Harper's  Family  Library.)  By  the  Rev.  H.  H. 
MiLMAN.  Ill  3  volumes,  18mo.  Illustrated  with  original 
Maps  and  Woodcuts.     [Stereotyped.] 

"The  Editors  have  been  most  fortunate  in  engi^in;;  on  this  work  the  pen  of  a  scholar,  hoth 
classical  and  scriptural,  and  so  elegant  ami  powerful  a  writer,  as  the  Poetry  Professor.  Few  theo- 
logical works  of  this  order  have  appeared  either  in  ours  or  in  any  other  lan^age.  To  the  Christian 
reader  of  even,'  a^e  and  sex — and  we  may  add  of  every  seci — it  will  be  a  source  of  the  purest 
delight,  instruction,  and  comfort ;  and  of  the  infidels  who  open  it  merely  that  they  may  not  remain 
in  ignorance  of  a  work  placed  by  general  consent  in  the  rank  of  an  English  classic,  is  there  not 
every  reason  to  hope  that  many  will  lay  it  down  in  a  far  different  mood  V—BlackwQod'i' Magazine. 

THE  HISTOUY  OF  NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE : 
(Nos.  IV.  and  V.  of  Harper's  Family  Library.)  By  J.  G, 
LocKHART,  Esq.  In  3  vols.  18mo.  With  several  Cop- 
perplate Engravings.     [Stereotyped.] 

"  It  is,  unquestionably,  in  a  brief  and  tangible  form,  the  most  popular  history  of  Napoleon  that  has 
yet  been  produced."— ^lioj. 

THE  LIFE  OF  NELSON:  (No.  VL  of  Harper's 
Family  Libraiy.)  By  Robert  Southey,  Esq.  In  1  vol. 
18mo.     With  a  Portrait.     [Stereotyped.] 

"  We  are  pleased  to  find  that  each  "succeeding  number  of  the  Family  Libranr  Is  worthy  of  the 
promise  held  oui  by  the  first  numbers,  and  the  liferar)'  talents  which  they  display.  The  present 
19  among  the  most  interesting  of  those  that  have  yet  appeared."— Courier. 

THE  LIFE  OF  ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT :  (No. 
"VII.  of  Harper's  Family  Library.)  By  Rev.  J.  Williams. 
In  1  vol.  18mo.     With  a  Map.     [Stereotyped.] 

"Judging by  the  present  specimen,  th«j  Family  Library  must  become  a  favourite  lo  allclAases. 
uiil  beaetit  society  in  general." — B.  Journal. 


Works  Recently  Published. 

THE  REMINISCENCES   OF  THOMAS  DIBDIN. 

Author  of  the  "  Cabinet,"  &c.  &c.     2  vols,  in  1,  8vo. 

"  Dibdin's  Keminiscenca  will  be  fnund  to  contain  a  larger  portion  of  curious  history  relating  to 
Gre  intri^es  and  cabals  connected  with  the  internal  management  of  our  national  theatres  than  any 
other  work  extanl.  The  letters  written  to  Mr.  Dibdin  by  Mr.  Sheridan,  George  Colman.Henr^ 
Harris,  Thomas  Harris,  Mr.  Whitbread,  Douglas  Kinnaird,  Peler  Moore,  Mr.  Arnold,  and  Mr.  Elh- 
8ton  now  published,  for  the  first  time,  exhibit  Secrds  of  the  Grun-Raom,  highly  amusing  to  the 
public,  and  particularly  gratifying  to  the  lovers  of  the  Drama."— iUommj  C/iroticte. 

WALTER  COLYTON.  A  Tale.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 
By  the  Author  of  "  Brambletye  House,"  "  Zillah,"  &c.  &c. 

"  The  author  has  ^eat  power,  veiy  great  power ;  and  while  reading  him,  we  feel  that  we  have 
a  master  to  deal  with  ;  and  if  he  do  not  reach^the  g^undeur  to  which  the  author  of  Waverley 
occasionally  rises,  his  course  is  more  repilar,  his  vigour  better  sustained,  and  a  more  steady  interest 
is  kept  up  throughout. — Bdmburgh  Magazine. 

THE  NEW  FOREST.  A  Novel.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 
By  the  author  of  "  Brambletye  House,"  "  Zillah,"  &c.  &c. 

"  To  say  that  this  novel  is  by  the  author  of  '  Brambletye  House,'  implies  that  it  is  lively,  graphic, 
and  forcible  j  and  such  must  be  the  general  impression  of  '  The  New  Forest.'  -^—Court  journal. 

THE  COLLEGIANS.     A  Novel.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

**The  stem  imbecility  of  the  heart-broken  gentleman  may  be  compared  in  effect  and  in  toucli- 
ing  beauty,  to  that  most  beautiful  and  Jmp.i&sioned  scene  in  the  *  Antiquary,'  the  Fisherman's 
lamentation  over  his  sou.    Can  praise  go  higher  ?" — spectator. 

THE  RIVALS.  A  Novel.  By  the  Author  of  "  The 
Collegiansy^^  &c.     In  2  volumes,  12mo. 

"  For  touches  of  gennine  pathos,  simplicity,  and  most  highly-wrousht  interept.  Te  make  ques- 
tion  if  any  tiling  of  the  kind  ever  took  precedency  of  the  Stories  of  this  writei  j  and  their  efTecl 
must  be  to  raise  their  yniing  author  hi^h  in  the  rank  of  illustrious  names,  now  securely  establishe<5 
in  Uie  records  of  literature,  and  highest  of  all  iu  the  annals  of  precocious  genius." — Examiner, 

HUNGARIAN  TALES.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  By  the 
Author  of  "  The  Lettre  de  Cachet,"  and  "  Romances 
of  Real  Life." 

" Written  with  great  vigour  and  purity  of  style,  highly  interesting  in  the  developement  of 

the  stories,  and  abounding  with  fine  and  graphic  descriptions  of  character,  as  well  as  of  exteniai 
objects." — New-Yoi-k  Mirror. 

ROMANCES  OF  REAL  LIFE.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  By 
the  Author  of  "  Hungarian  Tales." 

"For  a  light,  free,  flowing,  and  truly  feminine  style,  we  know  not  where  to  look  for  Mrs. 
Charles  Gore's  equal  among  living  feniale  writers,  or  her  superior  among  dead  ones.  She 
is  a  charming  writer,  and  one  who  will  not  easily  find  a  rival,  except  in— herself.  In  other  words, 
she,  and  she  only,  is  the  writer  who  caji  make  us  forget  the  pleasure  which  we  have  received  from 
these '  Romances  of  Real  Life.'  " — Court  Journal, 

COMING  OUT ;  and  THE  FIELD  OF  THE  FORTY 

FOOTSTEPS.      Novels.      By  Misses   Jane  and  Anna 
Maria  Porter.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

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high  attainments.'* — New-York  Mirror. 

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Miss  Anna  Maria  Porter. 

"  This  is  a  delightful  work— it  will  be,  and  deservet  to  be,  lughly  popular." — IM.  Gazettt, 


FRANCE 


IN  1829—30. 


BY    LADY    MORGAN, 

AUTHOR   OF    "FRANCE"   (in   1816),  "ITALY,"    "LIFE   AJVD   TIMES  OF 
SALVATOR  ROSA,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 


Prance  is  acquainted  with  her  rights,  and  well  knows  how  to  defend  them y— Lafayette. 


IN  TWO  V0LL3IES. 


VOL.   I. 


NEW- YORK  : 

PRjyTED  BY  J.  4-  J.  HARPER,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 

SOLI)  ny    luLLlNS  AND  HANNAY,  COI.MNS  AND  CO.,0.  AND   C.  AND    H.  CARVILI  ,    O.A. 
ROORBACH,  WHITE,   UALLAHER,  ASD     WHITE,  A.    T.   GOODRICH,    W.  B.  GU.I.EY,  K. 

BUSS,  <;.  s.  FRANCIS,  o.  c.  mor(;an,  m.  Bancroft,  w.  burgess,  n.  b.  HOt.MKs, 

M'ELRATn  AND  8ANOS,E    B.  CLAYTON,  J.  K.  BETTS,  ANDJ.  T.  K.  PORTER  ; — ALB.X..VY, 
<).  STJfl.E     \Nn  LITTLE  AND  ClMi\lINi;s. 


1830. 


TO    THE 

C^    GENERAL  COMMANDANT  OF  THE  NATIONAL  GUARD, 

TO 

GENERAL  LAFAYETTE, 

TUE    rOLLOWIXO    SKETCH   OF 

THE    STATE    OF    SOCIETY    IN    PRANCE, 

A  (;oNDrnoN,  in  part,  the  result  of  his  own  great 

EXAMPLE  AND  NATIONAL  INFLUENCE  ; 


W  rru  WHICH    HIS    illustrious    name  WILL    BE  ASSOCIATED  TO 
THE    LATEST    POSTERITY, 

IS    RESPECTFULLY   INSCRIBED, 


a 


HIS  FRIEND  AND  SERVANT, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


321850 


PREFACE. 


The  following  pages  arc  transcribed  from  a  journal, 
circumstantially  kept,  during  a  visit  to  France.  In  most 
instances,  the  original  entries  have  been  retained  in  all 
their  first  freshness  and  integrity.  In  a  few,  the  im- 
portance of  the  subject  has  required  a  more  reflected 
consideration,  and  has  obtained  it.  In  all,  the  impressions 
have  been  preserved,  as  they  were  received :  not  an  item 
has  been  changed  in  the  inventory  since  it  was  drawn,, 
though  some  of  the  articles  may  have  been  polished  for 
public  exhibition. 

Having  left  Ireland  in  the  dark  moment  which  preceded 
the  bright  rising  of  her  great  political  day, — after  lingering 
there,  till  hope  delayed  had  made  the  heart  sick, — we  went 
abroad  in  search  of  sensations  of  a  more  gracious  nature 
than  those  presented  by  the  condition  of  society  at  home. 
It  matters  not  whether  any  preconceived  intentions  of  au- 
thorship influenced  the  journey  ;  a  second  work  on  France 
can  be  alone  justified^by  the  novelty  of  its  matter  or  by 
the  merit  of  its  execution. 

It  may  serve,  however,  as  an  excuse,  and  an  authentica- 
tion of  the  attempt,  that  I  was  called  to  the  task  by  some 
of  the  most  influential  organs  of  public  opinion,  in  that 
great  country.  They  relied  upon  my  impartiality  (for  I 
liad  proved  it,  at  the  expense  of  proscription  abroad,  and 
persecution  at  home) ;  and,  desiring  only  to  be  represented 
as  they  are,  they  deemed  even  my  humble  talents  not 


VI  PilEFA.CE. 


wholly  inadequate  to  an  enterprise,  whose  first  requisite 
was  the  honesty  that  tells  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth.  This  I  have  done  to  the  full  extent 
of  n)y  own  convictions,  and  to  the  utmost  limit  of  the 
sphere  of  my  observation  :  I  answer  for  no  more. 

I  am  indebted  to  Sir  C.  Morgan  for  the  articles  on 
Philosophy,  the  Public  Journals,  Primogeniture,  and  Public 
Opinion. 

S.  M. 

Duhlm,  Juw,  1830. 


CONTENTS 


THE    FIRST    VOLUME. 


I'afre 

Notre  Dame  de  Calais 

. 

9 

L'Aubergc     . 

•          ■          . 

.       13 

Pas  de  Calais    . 

.... 

14 

Barriere  de  la  Villette 

16 

The  Rue  Rivoli— Hotel 

de  la  Tcrrasse 

19 

Our  first  days  in  Paris — 

Old  friends 

22 

Old  and  New  Paris 

• 

25 

General  LaXayelte 

. 

32 

An^'loniania 

.... 

48 

Royalism  (in  1829) 

. 

53 

The  "  Congregation" 

... 

55 

Perfumery — Magazin  de 

Felix  Iloubigant — Chardin 

57 

The  Count  de  Tracy 

. 

60 

Ball  at  the  Eniilish  Emb 

assy         .... 

65 

The  Count  de  Segur 

.          . 

68 

Romanticists  and  Classicists          .... 

73 

Modern  Literature 

..... 

98 

French  Philosophy 

116 

French  Sculpture     . 

127 

Mornings  at  Paris 

134 

Le  Fevre 

145 

The  Protestant  Pope    . 

.   150 

Madame  Jacotot 

154 

Furniture     . 

156 

Au  Grand  Voltaire 

. 

158 

Readers  and  Authors    . 

•160 

French  Dandies 

. 

164 

VUl  COKTKKTS. 

Page 

Tortoni's     • 167 

Public  Opinion  in  1829 171 

The  Giraffe .  193 

Gerard — Le  Sacra  du  R,oi  Charles  X.         .          .           .  195 

Societe  Philoteclinique          .          .          .          .          .       .  198 

Beranger — Visit  to  La  Force    ....           .  205 

Private  Collections       .          .         .          .          ".         .       .  213 

Society — Exchisives  .         .  .         .  .  .218 

Horticultural  Institutions — Fremont       .         .         .      ^  219- 


FRANCE,   &c. 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  CALAIS. 

Oh  !  the  delicious  burst  of  agreeable  sensations  !  It  was  for 
this  a  Roman  emperor,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  power,  ofibred  a 
premium,  and  oftered  it  in  vain.  Were  I  to'write  a  receipt  for 
its  acquirement,  it  should  run  thus: — 

First,  take  up  your  residence,  for  any  given  time,  in  "  the 
most  unhappy  country  that  is  under  heaven  ;"  then  devote  to 
its  interests  all  your  sympathies,  to  its  cause  all  your  talents  ; 
draw  upon  yourself  the  persecution  of  one  party,  without  se- 
curing the  protection  of  another;  get  sick  of  exhaustless  dis- 
cussions upon  long- exhausted  subjects  ;  get  satiated  with  party 
watchwords,  applied  to  the  purposes  of  personal  pre-eminence  ; 
become  disgusted,  or  indignant  (according  to  your  tempera- 
ment), with  petty  intrigues  and  semi-civilized  views  ;  and  when 
the  horizon  looks  darkest,  and  the  storm  rages  loudest ;  when 
the  vessel  you  have  seen  nearly  within  hail  of  port,  seems  sud- 
denly dashed  back  among  the  breakers,  leaving  hope  forlorn, 
and  exertion  without  forther  motive,  then — "  cut  the  painter," 
escape  as  you  may,  upon  raft  or  hen-coop,  reach,  as  fast  as 
you  can,  a  foreign  shore,  and  mingle  with  another  population, 
congregated  under  other  institutions.  Be  the  transition  rapid, 
the  contrast  striking — site,  scene,  and  climate,  all  novel  and 
opposed — change  the  bitter  bise  of  a  northern  spring,  for  the 
heavens  all  blue^  and  air  all  balm,  of  a  southern  region.  In  a 
word,  leave  Ireland  in  its  worst  of  times  and  worst  of  weather, 
and  get  to  France  in  t!ie  happiest  epoch  of  both,  when  the 
season  and  the  people  (alike  fresh  from  the  toucli  of  regene- 
ration) give  the  best  aspect  of  the  moral  and  the  natural  world  ; 
and  then  {probatum  est)  you  will  enjoy  that  new  pleasure,  for 
which  imperial  magnificence  offered  its  reward,  and  offered  it 
without  success. 

This  delicious  burst  of  sensation  I  am  now  enjoying,  in  the 
fjrst  flutter  of  an  escape  from  Ireland,  and  arrival  in  Calais, 


10  NOTRE    DAME    DE   CALAIS. 

What  a  delightful  place  (by-the-by)  this  Calais  is !  (for  I  take 
it  for  granted,  that  I  am  not  mistaking  internal  disposition  for 
external  object:?.)  "  After  Calais,"  says  Horace  Walpole,  while 
writing  from  Italy,  "  nothing  surprises  me."  Calais  surprised 
Doctor  Johnson  too  !  The  genial  Yoricks,  and  the  saturnine 
Smell-funguses  have  alike  paid  their  tribute,  and  lighted  a 
taper,  at  the  shrine  of  Notre  Dame  de  Calais  ;  and  all  British 
travellers,  who  for  the  first  time  have  left  their  boxes  of  brick, 
and  faces  of  phlegm,  to  see  houses  that  are  not  boxes,  and  faces 
that  are  not  phlegmatic,  have  never  failed  to  be  astonished,  if 
they  have  refused  to  be  pleased.  But  that  /should  be  delighted, 
and  for  the  fifth  time  1  and  with  Calais  too  ! — the  limbo  of 
British  insolvency  in  feeling  and  in  foi-tune — the  asylum  of 
worn-out  passions  and  exhausted  purses — the  last  retreat  of 
dandies  who  are  done  up,  and  of  millionnaires  in  misery, — the 

lascia-speranza  of  beaux  and  beauties,  where  B s  go  to 

vegetate,  and  Hamihons  to  die  !*  But  there  is  no  mistaking 
the  evidence  of  sensation  ;  and  so  here  I  am  surprised  and  de^ 
lighted  with  Calais  all  over  again  ;  just  as  I  \vas  when  I 
reached  it,  for  the  first  time,  in  1816,  and  stood  entranced 
before  the  gold  ear-rings  and  three-cocked  hats  of  the  most 
awful  of  custom-house  officers.  Apropos,  these  officers  are 
more  civil,,  without  being  less  strict  than  they  used  to  be. 
There  is  less  of  that  ruflianly  display  of  power,  which  all  the 
familiars  of  oflice  in  France  exhibited,  on  the  first  reaction  of 
the  restoration,  to  [)rove  their  questionable  fidelity,  and  dubious 
adhesion  to  the  new  order  of  things.  The  zeal  of  girouettism 
is  now  probably  falling  iiito  disuse,  with  the  costume  of  the  old 
r{'ginie ;  for  one  of  the  doiiaiiiers,  instead  of  the  customary 
cocked  hat,  actually  wore  thixt  bonnet  du  petit  caporcd^]  which 
fourteen  years  ago  was  a  badge  of  disloyalty,  and  something 
like  a  signal  for  proscription. 

As  we  walked  from  the  custom-house  1o  our  inn,  we  had  to 
stem  the  full  tide  of  the  female  population  of  the  town  ;  so, 
instead  of  running  against  it,  we  did  more  wisely  than  we  ever 
did  before — we  turned  with  it.  It  brought  us  to  the  church  of 
Our  Lady  of  Calais.     The  vesper  bell  was  tolling,  the  vesper 

*  Here  also  died  the  beautiful  and  too-celebrated  Dutchess  of  King- 
ston, She  had  purchased  some  property  in  Calais,  which  she  was  de- 
sirous of  bequcatliing  to  licr  friend  tlie  commandant  of  tlie  town;  but 
by  the  wording  of  the  will,  she  left  it  to  the  olficcr,  and  not  to  the  man  ; 
and  the  military  commander  of  Calais,  for  the  time  being,  enjoys  her 
legacy  unto  this  day. 

+  So  called,  from  being  occasionally  worn  by  Napoleon  in  his  cam^ 
paigns. 


XOTRE    DAME    DE    CALAIS.  II 

Iiymii  was  commencing,  and  the  vesper  toilette  was  in  full  re- 
quisition and  perfect  uniformity.  All  the  fair  pilgrims  were 
dressed  in  the  conventional  costume  of  blue  ribands  and  black 
mantles;  /oMr«M/*e  French  ;  petticoats,  short ;  heads,  high  ;  a 
missal  in  every  hand,  and  a  rosary  on  every  arm.  All  talked 
loud,  and  even  "  the  little  children  talked  French,''  to  the  sur- 
prise of  some  of  our  party,  as  of  Doctor  Johnson  ;  but  French, 
oil  il  n''-7j-avoit  mot  de  Dieii.^^*  Nothing  appeared  less  devo- 
tional than  the  mood  of  these  votaries. 

As  we  drew  aside  the  heavy  curtain  of  the  portals  of  this 
ancient  pile,  the  spectacle  was  very  striking,  imposing,  and 
picturesque.  The  sun  poured  a  shower  of  many-coloured 
lights  through  the  fine,  painted  casements  ;  and  slirines,  altars, 
and  candelabras,  shone  in  the  bright  reflection  of  their  vivid 
tints.  The  deep  peal  of  the  organ  was  rolling  through  the 
vastness  of  the  edifice.  The  atmosphere  was  still  breathing  of 
incense  ;  the  officiating  ministers,  with  their  white-robed 
attendants,  were  moving  solemnly  and  mysteriously,  with  fre- 
quent genuflexions,  in  front  of  the  great  altar,  which  terminated 
the  perspective.  The  awe  and  surprise  of  our  Irish  footman 
(a  worthy  son  of  his  church),  who  walked  after  us,  was  very 
obvious.  How  imposing  the  first  view  of  a  catholic  temple,  in 
a  catholic  country,  must  be,  to  a  poor  Irish  papist,  who  knows 
nothing  of  the  exterior  splendours  of  his  religion,  beyond  the 
tarnished  stole  of  its  laborious  priest,  and  the  tawdry  orna- 
ments that  deck  the  rude  altars  of  some  mud  cabin,  conse- 
crated by  the  cross  stuck  in  the  thatch  I 

The  abbey-church  of  Nutre  Dame  de  Calais  was  crowded 
to  its  choir,  with  a  female  congregation,  coming  in  and  going 
out,  and  scattering  round  tlie  holy  water,  with  fingers  as  care- 
less as  their  looks.  The  ('life,  more  composed  (as  the  elite' 
should  be),  occupied  chairs,  which  they  jocked  to  and  fro,  with 
a  vibratory  motion  of  their'smart  heads,  and  a  wandering  glance 
of  their  bright  eyes,  which,  truth  to  tell,  v;ere  fixed  upon  every 
object  in  turn,  save  the  book  they  held  in  their  hands.  We 
came  in  for  our  share  of  looks,  and  smiles,  and  whisperings  ; 
while  the  Swiss  (just  as  I  left  him  fourteen  years  ago),  all 
pomp  and  importance,  baudricr]  and  buttons,  cocked  hat,  and 

'^  Where  there  was  no  word  of  Heaven. — Madame  de  Sivigni. 

t  To  the  unlearned  in  such  mattors,  it  may  be  necessary  to  explain, 
that  the  rigorous  costume  of  a  French  church-boadle  is  of  more  ancient 
date  than  the  "  plain,  honest,  homely,  industrious,  wliolcsome,  bro'^vn" 
or  blue  habiliments,  of  the  protestaut  functionary  of  the  same  denomi- 
nation ;  so  formidable  in  the  eyes  of  our  parish  urchins.    The  "  Suisse,'''' 


12  KOTRE    DAME    DE    CALAIS. 

gold-headed  cane,  at  once  "  marked  us  for  his  own,"  and,  with 
his  wand  of  office,  beckoned  us  to  approach.  Solemnly  ap- 
plying liis  keys  to  the  door  of  a  lateral  chapel,  he  began  his 
office  of  cicerone,  by  pointing  to  a  flaring,  staring  picture,  for 
which  lie  bespoke  our  admiration,  by  the  assurance  that  it  was 
a  Coreggio.  "  A  Coreggio!"  I  reiterated,  with  a  foolish  face 
of  praise,  "  I  should  have  taken  it  for  a  Raphael."' 

"  Coreggio,  oti  Raphael,'''  he  replied,  "  c'est  ^gale,  'tis 
equally  a  fine  picture."  A  group  of  saiiling.arch  girls,  who  sat 
near  to  where  we  stood,  burst  into  an  ill-stifled  titter,  of  which 
the  Swiss  and  ourselves  were  the  evident  objects. 

^^Ccst  un  beau  saint,  Madame,  que  voild,"  muttered  one  of 
the  joyous  band,  as  we  passed. 

"  And  are  all  your  saints  as  handsome  as  that,  Mademoi- 
selle ?"  I  asked. 

'■^Mais  tons,  tons,'''  replied  the  group,  eagerly,  and  laughing  ; 
"  demandez  d  Monsieur  le  Suisse.''' 

Monsieur  le  Suisse  extended  his  staff,  with  a  "  silence,  Mes- 
detnoiselles,'^  and  motioned  us  on,  to  other  chef  d''(£iim'es  of 
equal  value,  and  equal  authenticity. 

What  particularly  struck  me  in  the  congregation  was,  that, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  old  men,  who  looked  either  poor 
or  infirm,  it  was  so  exclusively  female.  1  remarked  the  circum- 
stance, afterward,  to  a  gentleman  of  the  town,  who  replied, 
with  an  ironical  smile,  Madame,  nous  sommes  indignes,  nous 
autres.'"* 

"  But  I  remember  (I  said)  seeing  the  military,  the  autho- 
rities, and  many  others  of  the  male  population,  assisting  at  ves- 
pers, when  I  first  visited  Calais." 

"  And  when  was  that,  Madame  ?" 
•     -"In  1818." 

"  A  la  bonne  heure!  But  we  are  not  now  in  1816.  This  is 
the  year  1829." 

as  he  is  called,  derives  his  outward  man,  very  probably,  from  the  time 
when  the  sons  of  Helvetia  were  first  appointed  to  jruard  the  gates  of  the 
French  nobility.  His  coat  is  of  the  oldest  cut  of  livery,  and  garnished 
with  its  foil  compliment  of  worsted  lace  ;  over  which  is  passed,'-  garter-  * 
wise,"  a  broad  embroidered  sword-belt,  (the  above-mentioned  baudricr), 
of  sufficient  length  to  suspend  a  slight  fencing  sword  transversely  across 
the  calf  of  his  leg.  What  a  strange  amimai  is  man  I  —to  think  that  this 
preposterous  niascarade  should  have  survived  the  storms  of  the  revo- 
lution, in  which  the  tithes  were  swamped  ;  and  that  beadles  should 
have  exhibited  a  greater  tenacity  of  life  than  mitred  abbots  and  feudal 
chiefs  ! 

*  "  We  men  are  unworthy," 


[  13] 


L'AUBERGE. 

On  the  first  view  of  our  hotel,  I  exclaimed,  "  How  French  !'' 
There  were  the  court  and  its  treillage,  its  vine  and  its  liber- 
nuni,  and  its  kitchen  on  the  ground-iloor,  with  its  bright  bat- 
terie  shining  through  the  scarlet  geraniums  of  its  open  win- 
dows. There  were  the  black  eyes  and  white  caps,  popping 
in  and  out  of  its  many  doors  ;  and  the  ruins  of  an  old  dili- 
gence, with  its  tackle  of  ropes,  enjlute,  under  the  old  remise  ; 
and  the  good-humoured  host,  with  his  military  air,  and  the 
graceful  hostess,  with  the  manners  of  a  well-bred  lady,  (for 
in  France  the  men  are  all  gentlemen,  and  the  women  all  la- 
dies,— the  universal  courtesy  incidental  to  a  genial  tempera- 
ment). 

This  was  my  first  impression  :  my  second  extorted  the 
-jexclamation  of  "  How  English  !"  Not  a  sanded  floor,  nor  a 
sullied  parquet  are  now  visible.  Notliing  but  English  car- 
pets, and  English  cleanliness  ;  English  delf  and  English  da- 
mask ;  not  a  rag  of  the  old  huckaback  left,  which  seemed 
formerly  to  serve  the  double  purposes  of  bed  and  table.  The 
ostler,  too,  speaks  English  to  our  servant,  with  all  the  classic 
slang  of  "  Lad-lane,"  or  the  "Golden  Cross."  The  ^a/"- 
ron  cries,  "  coming  up  ;"  and  the  tea  and  muffins  are 
worthy  of  the  Talbot  at  Shrewsbury.  An  horn,  too  !  not 
the  "  crack,  crack,  crack  !"  of  old  associations,  but  a 
"  reg'lar"  mail-coach  horn  ;  the  "  f>ang-up,"  from  Bou- 
logne,  cantering  into  the  yard,  with  horses  curvettino-,  and 
not  a  hair  turned— a  whip,  that  "  tips  tlie  silk"  like  a  feather 
— "  ribbons,"  not  ropes — a  coachman,  all  capes  and  castor 
— a  guard  that  cries  "  all  right" — and  the  whole  "  turn  out," 
worthy  of  the  four-in-hand  club  !  Not  a  jack-boot,  aot  a 
queue,  not  a  powdered  tovpte  left :  nothing  to  ridicule,  no- 
thing to  blame.  "  Il-n\i/-a  plus  de  Py rentes  /"  The  age  of 
tourists  and  of  chivalry  is  alike  over.  What  luck  to  have 
written  my  France,  while  France  was  still  so  French  .' 


Vol.  I.— 2 


[  14] 


PAS  DE  CALAIS. 

But,  for  the  Napoleon  column  to  the  left,  (a  monument  of 
recollections,  beyond  the  parallel  of  all  former  records  of  his- 
tory,) one  miglit  take  the  route  between  Calais  and  Bou- 
logne, particularly  as  the  latter  town  is  approached,  for 
the  road  between  London  and  Brighton.  A  number  of 
yeiuths  of  both  sexes,  galloping  their  horses  along  the 
strand,  in  the  cavalry  costume  of  Hyde  Park,  recalled,  by 
force  of  contrast,  a  Picardy  lady,  whom  I  once  saw  riding 
out  from  the  upper  town,  (like  the  picture  of  Madame  de 
Montespan  going  to  a  rendezvous  de  chasse,  dressed  en  cava- 
lidre,)  and  her  groom  with  a  cocked  hat  and  jack-boots  be- 
side her  ;  but  this  was  in  1810.  'J'hen,  what  smart  gigs,  and 
natty  dennets  come  rolling  on  !  an  Irish  jaunting-car  ! 
(This  is  really  "  too  bad.")  A  barouche  full  of  mothers, 
fhildren,  and  nursery-maids — "  a  terrible  sight"  in  any  coun- 
try, and  in  France  an  anomaly.  A  baker's  taxed  cart  gives 
the  go-by  to  a  drsohligeant  with  three  coronets,  the  "  avant, 
■pendant,  and  ap7'i't>,"  distinctions  of  some  official  of  the  ar- 
rondissement,  who  is  taking  his  morning's  drive,  in  all  the 
pomp  and  circumstance  of  successful  raiting.  In  the  envi- 
rons of  Boulogne,  "  cottages  of  gentility,"  with  white  walls, 
and  green  shutters,  and  neat  offices  (opening  to  the^road,  in 
all  the  glitter  of  brass  harnesses,  and  highly-varnished  equi- 
])ages,)  rival  the  diversified  orders  of  the  Wyatvilles  of  Is- 
lington and  llighgate.  English  neatness  and  propriety 
prevail  on  every  side  ;  as  if  the  isle,  "  frightened  from  its 
propriety"  at  home,  had  come  to  recover  it  here.  Is  there 
iiothinf  French,  then,  out  of  London,  where  every  shop  is  a 
"  magazin,''  and  every  article  labelled  by  the  vocabulary  of 
the  Rue  Vivienne  ?  Yes  ;  here  is  the  old  fortified  town  of 
France,  with  its  once  impregnable  walls,  and  picturesque 
towers  ;  and  in  the  remotest  distance,  beyond  the  dark  woods, 
are  the  gleaming  turrets  of  former  feudality.  The  sharp,  pure 
air,  too,  is  French,  and  the  bright  blue  sky,  without  a  cloud 
to  dim  its  lustre,  save  one  long  line  of  dense,  dark  vapour, 
hovering  over  the  waveless  sea,  and  marking  the  track  of  a 
-ressel,  which,  without  wind  or  tide,  gallantly  enters  the  port, 
while  hundreds  of  spectators  stand  watching  and  hailing  its 
•xpected  arrival,  at  the  given  hour. 


PAS  DE  CALAIS.  15 

In  this  vessel  lies  the  secret  of  much  of  the  change  and  im- 
provement visible  on  the  threshold  of  France,  as  it  is  in  most 
parts  of  Europe.  Facility  of  communication,  safety,  cer- 
tainty, the  mastery  over  space  and  time,  (that  glorious  conse- 
quence of  science,)  unimpeded  by  the  superstition  that  once 
made  the  discovery  of  a  truth  the  signal  for  persecution,  and 
the  happiness  of  the  many  subservient  to  the  unrestricted 
power  of  the  few. — these  are  the  regenerators,  the  great 
conciliators  betvveen  free  England  and  liberal  France,  the 
bonds  of  union  between  nations,  which  defeat  and  neutral- 
ize  unholy  alliances  of  conspiring  despots.  How  I  longed, 
in  the  impetuosity  of  my  Irish  feelings,  to  fling  a  stone,  and 
raise  a  cromlech  on  the  spot,  where  impressions  of  such  hap- 
py augury  for  the  happiness  of  mankind  were  awakened  ! 
But  the  only  elevated  spot,  suited  to  such  a  monument,  was 
already  occupied.  It  lay  to  the  left,  where  an  artificial 
mound  was  crowned  by  a  gigantic  crucifix,  wreathed  and 
garlanded  with  withered  flowers,  the  limbs  transfixed  wilh 
nails,  the  breast  laid  open,  and  a  bleeding  heart,  anatomical- 
ly faithful  in  its  delineation,  all  exposed,  to  scare  the  eye, 
and  to  sink  the  spirit  of  the  spectator.* 

This  token  of  the  revived  worship  of  the  "  sacre  coeur,'' 
the  signal  of  the  resuscitated  order  oC  the  teachers  of  bad 
faith,-]-  seemed  like  a  finger-post  erected  by  the  "  powers  that 
be,"  to  point  out  their  intention  of  restoring  that  state  of 
things  which  it  has  cost  millions  of  lives  to  destroy.  What  a 
contrast !  On  one  side,  the  nineteenth  century,  with  all  its 
glorious  conquests  over  error  and  ignorance,  its  triumphant 
progress  towards  the  improvement  of  the  species.  On  the 
other,  the  dark  ages  of  suffering  and  of  superstition,  Avheii 
the  wheel  was  raised,  and  the  fagot  lighted,  to  punish  truth 
and  to  repress  amelioration  ;  when  science  pined  in  its  dun- 
geon for  denying  the  movement  of  the  sun,  and  philosophy 
was  chained  to  the  galleys  for  doubting  of  the  categories  of 
Aristotle.:;: 

*  This  is  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  ordinary  emblem  of  Cbrist- 
ianity  in  Catliolic  countries.  It  is  the  symbol  of  Jesuitism,  the  engine 
of  rijligidus  fraud,  and  of  political  tyranny. 

t  The  Jesuits  of  St.  Acheul  have  set  uji  this  monstrous  image  in  al- 
most every  village  in  their  neighbouriiood. 

J  Mucli  more  recently,  a  Baron  do  Zuch  was  arrested,  tried,  and  ese- 
cuted  at  Turin,  for  having  published  that  the  earth  moves  round  the 
sun.  At  the  present  day,  efforts  are  still  made  in  Rome  to  prevent  tha 
tenchiui;,  either  verbally  or  in  print,  of  the  Copernican  doctrine.  Lit- 
tle did  the  good  people  of  England  think,  when  they  were  scatlerinj; 


16  BAEEIEKE  DE  LA  VILETTE. 

This  spectacle,  which  to  us  seemed  fitted  to  seize  on  the 
imagination  and  "  grieve  the  heart,"  produced  not  any  ap- 
parent  effect  upon  the  natives.  Pedestrians  and  horsemen, 
comers  and  goers,  all  passed  on  witii  outward  indifference — 
heedless  of  the  fate  of  La  Barre.*  Not  a  knee  bowed,  not  a 
hat  moved,  not  a  sign  was  made  in  token  of  recognition. 
All  eyes,  all  heads  were  turned  to  the  shore,  and  followed 
the  vessel,  which  without  sail  or  oar,  won  its  mysterious  way 
through  the  waters,  with  all  the  punctuality  of  the  post ;  tri- 
umphing over  the  caprice  of  tides,  for  which  no  man  now 
waits,  as  they  wait  for  no  man.  We  took  these  contrasted 
incidents,  on  the  first  stage  of  our  journey,  as  omens  of  good 
augury  : — nous  verrons. 


RARRIERE  DE  LA  VILETTE. 

"What,  not  enter  Paris  by  the  Port  St.  Denis  !  Break  up  all 
our  old  associations,  disappoint  all  reminiscences  And  origi- 
nal impressions  !  "  Helas  /"  said  the  witty  Vicomte  de  Segur, 
apropos  to  the  revolutionary  abandonment  of  petiis  souperSy 
"  Oil  vi'a  gate  mon  Parw."f  This  barriere  de  la  Vilette  was 
formerly  a  terra  incognita  to  us  "  posters  by  the  sea  and 
land."  La  Rue  Charles  X.  spick  and  span  new,  looks  like  a 
fragment  of  Regent  Street,  sent  over  by  Mr.  Nash,  as  a  spe- 
cimen of  the  domestic  architecture  of  a  free  country.  The 
houses  are  small  enough  for  exclusive  proprietors — the  homes 
of  constitutional  citizenship,  not  the  old  hotels  of  despotic 
rule,  vast  and  comfortless  as  eastern  caravanserais,  and  des- 
tined pretty  much  to  the  same  purposes  of  lodging  prince  and 
pauper  under  the  same  roof,  with  all  the  intermediate  grades 
of  various  privileges  and  no  rights.  Troltoirs,  too  !  to  pre- 
serve the  lives  and  limbs  of  humble  pede:<trians  ;  and  a  space 
between,  for  three  carriages  abreast !     This  is  not  the  Paris 

their  millions  in  liie  war  against  Napoleon,  that  they  were  fighting  for 
the  restoration  of  Ptolemy,  and  the  do\vnf;ilt  ot  Newlon  ;  yet  so  it  was  ! 
*  The  Chevalier  La  Bttrre,  a  minor,  esecnied  for  an  irnputetl  insult 
ofiered  to  the  crucifix.  For  the  particulars  of  this  judicial  murder, 
which  among  (he  many  items  of  pi'iestly  atiocily,  was  the  one  tiiat,  at 
the  time,  made  the  deepest  impression  on  the  public,  see  Grnnjii,  vol, 
iji.  p.  1. 

t  "They  have  spoiled  my  Paris." 


BARRIERE  DE  LA  VILETTE.  17 

described  by  Voltaire  to  the  King  of  Prussia,  when  the  limbs 
and  Jives  of  the  lower  orders  were  of  no  account,  istill  less 
does  it  recall  the  Paris  of  the  \emi  siicJe  of  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth, when  the  meeting  of  two  carriages  in  its  narrow,  tor- 
tuous lanes  was  wont  to  cost  the  lives  of  the  parlies  who  came 
into  collision.*  Les  Bouhvai-ds  Ifaliens  more  brilliant  and 
fantastic  than  ever  !  How  delighted  I  was  to  see  them,  with 
their  old  air  of  a  Venetian  carnival  !  The  pedestrians  how- 
ever are  fewer,  even  at  this  hour,  when  grisettes,  with  their 
smart  chaussure  and  cu.nibrous  cartons,  "  most  do  congre- 
gate." But  vehicles  of  all  sorts  have  multiplied,  new  fash- 
ioned, odd,  and  amusing — vast  and  commodious  as  moving 
houses  ; — Omnibuses,  Dames  blanches,  Cittadines,  teeming 
with  their  temporary  tenants,  and  so  clean,  so  well  appoint- 
ed !  the  coachmen  like  members  of  the  whip  club,  and  smart 
little  guards,  hung,  as  it  were,  at  the  open  door,  full  of  jests 
and  bon  mots,  as  the  compere  of  punch.  These  street  stages 
are  in  perpetual  movement,  plying  from  harrib-e  to  barritre, 
and  circulating  the  population  with  convenience  and  dispatch, 
through  every  quarter ;  punctual  as  clock-work ;  and  so 
cheap,  that  for  a  trifle  which  humble  industry  might  bestow 
on  mendicancy,  the  weary  are  spared  further  fatigue,  and  the 
busy  economise  their  time. 

The  discovery  of  the  value  of  time,  (the  estate  of  the  la- 
borious, and  almost  their  only  property,)  is  of  modern  date. 
In  encouraging  speculation  to  provide  for  the  comfort  of  the 
bumble,  and  demonstrating  to  the  industrious  tlie  utility  of 
avoiding  unnecessary  exertion,  and  of  making  the  most  of 
minutes,  it  lias  added  to  the  duration  of  life,  and  increased 
the  productive  energies  of  the  species.  In  the  good  old 
times,  the  idle  and  the  worthiass  only  rode  in  carriages. 
What  a  comment  on  the  improved  state  of  Paris  (the  epitome 
cjf  the  nation)  these  street  diligences  ailord  ; — a  comment 
which  they  wlio  run,  as  I  do^  may  mark,  learn,  and  inwardly 
digest !  What  an  interval  in  llie  nioral  and  physical  state  of 
the  country  since  the  reign  of  Henri  111.  wIwmi  some  clever 
man,  who  had  got  the  start  of  iiis  age,  set  up  a  sort  of  wag. 
gon,  culled  a  "  coche,'^  for  wading  through  the  mud  of  the 
streets  !    The  innovation  caused  a  rising  e?i  masse  of  all  the 

*  "  An  mois  de  Janvier  1Go4,  les  taripsses  dii  Due  d'Epcrnon  el  du 
Sieiir  do  Tilladet  s'etant  enlrelieurtfcs,  les  pages  et  Inqnais  de  ce  due; 
desccndirent,  et  s'avaucorenl  pour  tuer'le  coclier:  In  Sienr  de  Tilladet 
veut  les  en  empecher,  et  sauver  son  domeslique,  U  est  tuj  par  lea  laquaig 
du  due." — Esprit  de  Guy  Palin,  p.  21. 

2* 


IS  BAKRIERE  DE  LA  MLETTE. 

lovers  of  social  order,  wlio,  accustomed  to  see  the  people  trp 
to  their  knees  in  dirt,  and  the  nobility  going  to  court  on  mules 
and  horses,  appealed  to  the  wjsdom  of  their  ancestors  against 
the  daring  novelty.  The  presidents  and  counsellors  of  par- 
liament  petitioned  the  king  to  prohibit  the  use  of  this  vehicle 
within  the  city.*  With  this  petition  the  king  complied  ;  and 
the  strangest  part  of  the  edici  is,  that  the  compHance  was  not 
destitute  of  humanity.  For  the  greater  number  of  the  streets 
of  Paris,  even  to  the  time  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  were  so 
narrow,  that  wheel  coaches  could  not  circulate  with  safety, 
except  in  the  then  modern  quarter.  Henry  the  Fourth  had 
only  one  carriage  (the  immortal  "  man  carrosse")  which  he 
lent  occasionally  to  "  his  wife,"  good  man  ;  and  his  rival  and 
favourite,  Bassompierre,  is  quoted  as  the  inventor  of  a  glass 
window  in  the  panel  of  his  carriage,  at  a  time  when,  to  pos- 
sess such  an  equipage  at  all,  was  a  mark  of  opulence  and 
extravagance,  and  almost  a  royal  prerogative.  The  maner 
in  which  Anne  of  Austria  used  to  pack  her  whole  court  and 
furniture,  her  live  and  dead  stock,  into  one  vehicle,  shews 
that  carriages  were  rare  in  the  early  part  of  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth's reign.  The  ro^'al  family  evidently  drove  in  a  sort 
of  curtained  waggon,  without  springs,  or  other  machinery,  to 
break  the  dislocating  jolts  of  such  ponderous  vehicles,  over 
the  rude  pavements  laid  down  by  the  slaves  of  the  corvee,  the 
Macadams  of  the  ancient  regime,  "  taillahles  et  corvcables  a 
raerci  ct  a  misericorde.^'' 

It  strikes  me  that  the  modern  Omnibuses  are  terrible  ob- 
stacles to  tlie  return  of  the  said  "  old  times,"  so  often  invok- 
ed. The  poorest  Parisian  workman  and  his  family  ride 
more  luxuriantly  now,  than  that  great  king — "  roi,  Ic  plus  rot 
qui  onqucs  fuf,^^ — over  rode  in  his  day ;  and  the  souhrette, 
carrying  the  modes  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  to  that  of 
Les  Invaiides,  drives  more  rapidly  in  her  elegant  Zoo,  or 
Gondola,  with  its  cushion  of  down  or  of  iron,  than  the  am- 
bulatory seraglio  of  Versailles,  when  royal  mothers,  mistress- 
es, v.'ivcs,  favourites,  and  children,  legitimate  and  illegiti- 
mate, followed  tb.e  camp  of  the  ^raiiric  monorque,  all  stujiecl 
poll  mell,  in  the  carrosse  du  Roi.  These  physical  comforts 
will  not  easily  be  given  up  ;  ff)r  they  inspire  tlie  possessors 
with  a  sense  of  the  personal  dignity  of  mm,  and  of  liis  va- 
lue (so  to  speak)  in  the  market,  which  gives  despotism  an 

*  "  De  ne  donner  dispense  a  personne,  et  de  dcfcndre  I'usage  deal 
roelies  par  cette  ville." 


THE  RtE  DE  RIVOLI.  19 

infinity  of  trouble.  It  is  naked,  unaccomodated,  ignorant 
man,  that  constitutes  the  especial  raw  noaterial  of  unlimited 
sway;  and,  to  confound  tiie  diffusion  of  civilized  conveni- 
ence  with  the  enervating  luxury  of  overgrown,  isolated 
wealth,  as  a  cause  of  the  decline  of  states  and  of  general 
servility,  is  an  error,  which  the  slightest  reflection  sliould 
dissipate.     So,  let  the  Faubourg  St.  Gerniaine  look  to  it. 


THE  RUE  DE  RIVOLI. 

Poets  may  talk  of  the  Alhambra  of  the  Moors,  with  its 
orange  vales  and  jasper  palaces;  of  the  sublimity  of  the 
Andes,  the  grandeur  of  the  Alps,  or  the  beauties  of  tiio 
Lakes  of  Killarney  ;  but  give  me  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  with 
its  life,  intellectual  and  physical.  "  The  nation  with  which 
one  loves  to  live,"  says  Catherine  Vade,*  "  is  that  which 
merits  the  preference  ;"  and  it  is  with  localities  as  with  na- 
tions. Their  merit  lies  in  the  esteem  of  the  occupant,  and 
in  their  ad,i[)tation  to  his  tastes  and  fancies.  I  am  at  this  mo- 
ment lodged  on  the  place  upon  earth  where  I  should  prefer 
my  dwelling.  On  niy  first  arrival  in  France,  thirteen  years 
ago,  every  thing  struck  ine  by  its  originality:  now,  every 
thing  strikes  me  by  its  change,  and  by  the  force  of  contrast 
with  former  impressions.  As  we  drove  under  the  'porle  co- 
ch&e  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Terrasse,  it  thus  recalled  my  still 
fresh  remembrance,  of  our  former  arrival  at  our  old  Hotel 
d'Orleans,  in  the  Rue  Petits  Augustins,  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Gerniaine.  There  was  the  difi'erence  of  a  century.  The 
old,  aristocratical  faubourg,  with  its  narrow  streets  and  lofty 
edifices,  is  not  more  difi'erent  from  the  brilliant  quarter  of  the 
T«//ene.?  than  their  respective  inhabitants,  f  remember,  on 
driving  into  the  paved  court  of  the  Hotel  d'Orleans,  the  ap. 
pcarance  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  sitting  under  the  slielter 
of  a  vine,  and  looking  like  a  specimen  of  tl'ie  restored  emi- 
gration.  His  white  hair,  powdered  and  dressed  "ti  Vn/seait 
royale  ;"  his  Persian  slippers  and  robe  de  chambre,  "  a  grand 
ramage/'  spoke  of  principles  as  old  as  his  toilet.  He  was 
reading  too,  a  loyal  paper,  (loyal,  at  least,  in  those   days,) 

•  Voltaire. 


20  THK  RUE  J)E  RIVOLI. 

the  Journal  de.s  Debats.  Bowinn;,  as  we  passed,  he  consign- 
ed us,' with  a  graceful  wave  of  the  hand,  to  ihe,  care  of 
Pierre,  i\\G  frotieur.  I  took  him  for  some  iVogmetit  of  a  due 
et  imir  of  the  old  school ;  but,  on  putting  the  question  to  the 
froltenr  (who,  himself,  might  have  passed  for  a  figurante  at 
tJje  opera),  he  informed  us  that  ho  was  '■'■mtre  hourgcois^^  (the 
Master  of  the  hotel.) 

Proceeding  to  inspect  the  apartments  offered  to  our  choice, 
Pierre  threw  back  the  folding  doors  of  the  salon,  as  if  in  an- 
nouncing a  duchess;  and,  opening  the  shutters  of  the  win- 
dows, which  had  been  closed,  probably,  since  the  departure 
of  the  last  ocuupant,  he  exclaimed,  with  a  self-satistied  air, 
"  YoiUi  le  salon  de  madame.''^  It  was  a  large,  dreary  room. 
The  touch  of  the  chilly  parquet^  was  like  stone.  There  was 
not  a  scrap  of  rug,  or  carpet,  to  shield  the  feet  from  its  con- 
tfPCt.  A  regiment  of  grenadier  chairs  were  ranged  along* 
the  old  fashioned  walls;  ^vhich,  with  dim  mirrors  and  dingy 
girandoles,  (every  glass  drop  as  large  as  a  crown  piece,) 
tvvo  great  chairs  (the  herg^res  of  ceremony)  on  either  side 
the  cavernous  chimney,  a  heavy  pendule  on  the  high  mantel, 
piece,  and  a  table  in  the  centre,  on  which  the  revocation  of 
the  Edict  of  Nautz  might  have  been  signed,  (for,  precious 
relic  !  it  was  of  the  age,  and  might  have  been  in  the  cabinet 
of  Mad.  de  Maintenon,) — composed  all  that  was  uscilil  or 
ornamental  ia  this  type  of  the  vignettes  to  Marmontel's 
Tales. 

I  sighed  and  shuddered,  and  asked  for  a  fo/unc  de  chamhre 
to  show  n>e  to  the  bed-rooms.  Pierre  threw  open  another 
folding  door,  and  did  the  honoins  of  a  whole  nest  of  rooms, 
wliich  had  each  a  little  camp-like  bed  in  it. 

"  But  there  are  no  toilets,"  I  said;  The  term,  misapplied 
to  a  dressing  table,  was  not  in  Pierre's  vocabulary.  I  ex- 
plained ;  and  he  pointed  to  a  fihe  old,  dusky  mirror,  over 
(he  lofty  chimney-piece,  with  an  antique,  embroidered  pin- 
cushion dangling  from  a  candle-branch  ;  and  then,  to  a  bulh 
conmiode,  on  the  marble  slab  of  whicii  was  deposited  a  small 
dclf  salnd  dish,  and  a  pint  carafe,  of  muddy  water,  (the  only 
-preparations  for.dress  in  the  suite)  ;  "  T'oi/ti,''  he  said,  "  tout 
re  {/ii'd  faul  jjoiir  la  loilctfe  de  jnadamc'^- 

i  at  last  begged  a  carpet. 

"  JTn  tapis  !  IScigneur  Diev  !  a  carpet    to   hide   out   this 

*  "  An  inlaid  floor" — universal  in  tlic   best  apartments  of  a  Trcncli 
bouse. 
j  "  Here  is  everj  thing  necessary  for  your  toilet."' 


THE  Rl'E  DE  RIVOLI.  21 

beautiful  parquet  !  Does  Madame  know  why  the  English 
use  carpets  ? — Because  they  have  no  parquets  /" 

"  If  you  have  no  carpets,"  I  replied,  "  we  cannot  stay 
with  you." 

"'A/i  /  c'est  une  autre  chose,''''  said  Pierre  ;  and  ilying  out 
with  incredible  celerity,  returned  with  an  ancient  piece  of 
tapestvy,  which  represented  the  faded  loves  of  Telemachus 
and  Eucharis,  and  which,  having  served  the  purposes  of  a 
century  of  fctPs-dieu,  was  now  destined  to  serve  mine. 

"  Voild,''  said  Pierre,  as  he  unrolled  its  dustiness  at  my 
feet,  "  voila,  madame,  votre  affaire.'''' 

As  a  last  eftbrt  at  comfort,  we  requested  a  fire.  Pierre 
opened  his  great  black  eyes,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  a  fire  ia 
the  month  of  April  !  and  the  sun  shining  in  the  court  be- 
low !"  We  insisted.  "But,"  said  Pierre,  "  there  is  not  a 
spark  in  the  hotel." 

"  Cest  (gale,''  said  I,  "  you  must  procure  a  spark  else- 
where." 

"  Pardon  me,  it  is  the  business  of  your  valet  de  place,^^ 
replied  Pierre. 

The  self-hired  valet,  who  had  made  our  acquaintance  as 
we  alighted,  and  had  followed  us  up  stairs,  produced  a  list  as 
long  as  Leporello's  catalogue  of  Don  Juan's  mistresses,  of 
the  materials  necessary  for  the  purpose  ;  braise,  briquets, 
fagots,  bois,  &c.  &c.  &c. 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  we  shan't  have  a  fire  for  a  week." 

"  Pardonnez  7noi,"  replied  the  valet,  "  you  shall  have  one 
by  to-morrow." 

In  short,  we  found  that  our  hotel  garni  was  dcgarni  of 
€very  thing  in  the  way  of  comfort,  to  which  English  people 
are  accustomed  ;  and  that  we  were  lodged  pretty  much  as 
in  a  Spanish  inn,  where  nothing  is  to  be  found  produced  by 
art  or  nature,  but  shelter  and  sunshine. 

Such  was  our  arrival  in  1816.  Per  contra  ;  on  driving 
into  our  hotel  in  1829,  we  were  received  by  a  smart,  dapper, 
English-innkeeper-looking  landlord, — his  black  crop,  frock 
coat,  and  russia  ducks,  all  in  harmony  with  his  busy,  bustling, 
officious  activity.  I  looked  round  for  Pierre,  the  frottcur, 
and  found' myself  in  the  midst  of  a  bevy  of  tight,  neat  cham- 
bermaids, who,  but  for  their  French  accents  and  French 
a|)rons,  might  have  passed  for  the  handmaids  of  "  the  Ship,'' 
at  Dover.  The  apartments,  to  which  we  were  conducted  by 
"  mine  host"  and  his  attendants,  were  a  box  of  boudoirs,  as 
compact  as  a  Chinese  toy.     There  were  fires  in  every  room, 


22  OUU  FIRST  DAYS  IN  PARIS. 

carpets  on  every  floor,  chairs  that  were  moveable,  mirrors 
that  reflected,  sofiis  to  sink  on,  footstools  to  stumble  over  ;  in 
a  word,  all  tlie  comfortable  luml)or,  and  incommodious  com- 
modifies  of  my  own  cabin  in  Kildaie  Street.  The  dressing 
rooms,  too,  were  complete,  and  supplied  for  all  the  "  ablu- 
tions of  oriental  scrupulosity,"  with  basins  to  swim  in,  water 
to  float  a  jolly  boat,  tables  to  dress  at,  and  Psyches  to  flatter, 
as  elegant  as  their  name  ;  and  all  this  within  view  of  the 
limes  and  horse  chestnuts  of  the  Tuileries,  with  a  moving 
scene  before  the  windows,  in  itself  worth  tlie  journey  ; — 
royal  carriages,  with  their  inmates,  driving  abreast  with  om- 
nibuses and  vehciferes  ; — cabs  and"  culeshes  drawn  up  at  the 
garden  gates,  to  await  for  the  English  dandies  and  French 
mcrveilleux,  who  owned  ihein  ; — diligences  arriving  and  de- 
parting with  all  the  bustle  of  Piccadilly,  and  all  the  noise  of 
the  Toledo  ;* — and  last,  but  not  least,  the  whole  mass  of 
equipages,  which  the  Chaussce  (TAntin  rolls  along  the  Bou- 
levards, to  take  the  air  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne.  Within  half  an  hour  of  our  arrival  Ave  had 
made  our  toilet,  and  were  seated  (though  at  the  exorbitant 
hour  of  eight,  wiien  every  furnace  in  Paris  is  usually  cold) 
round  as  comfortable  a  dinner,  as  if  it  had  been  high  change 
among  the  restaurateurs. 


OUR  FIRST  DAYS  IN  PARIS- OLD  FRIENDS. 

Years  and  hours  are  no  certain  measures  of  the  duration 
of  life.  A  long  life  is  that  in  which  we  live  every  hour,  and 
feel  that  we  do  so.  It  is  a  life  made  up  of  vivid,  rapid,  and 
varied  sensations,  the  parents  of  lasting  impressions,  and  of 
prolific  combinations  of  ideas ;  a  lite  in  which  the  feelings 
are  preserved  fresh  by  past  associations,  and  the  fancy  exer- 
cised by  a  quick  succession  of  images ;  a  life  which,  whe- 
ther it  makes  us  feel  the  blessings  or  the  burthen  of  existence, 
still  gives  the  liiU  consciousness  that  we  do  "live,  breathe, 
and  have  a  being."     All  that  is  not  this,  is  nothing, — or  at 

"  One  of  the  most  remarkable  ehanges  uliicli  has  taken  place  in 
French  life,  is  indicated  by  tlie  increase  of  intercourse'  between  the 
f.'i|iita]  and  tiie  viliaoes  in  its  environs.  Where  one  short  stage  plied  at 
the  time  of  our  first  residence  in  I'uris,  there  are  now,  at  least,  twenty. 


OLD  FRIENDS.  23 

best  the  raw  material  of  life,  unworked  and  unenjoyed  :  it 
is  the  charcoal  and  oyster  shell,  substantially  identical  with 
the  diamond  and  the  pearl,  but  wanting  in  the  lustre  and  po- 
lish which  confer  on  them  their  rarity  and  value. 

The  quantity  of  sensations  and  ideas  we  have  crowded  into 
a  petty  space  of  time,  since  our  arrival  in  Paris,  is  well 
worth  twenty  years  of  ordinar^^  existence.  The  old  friend, 
ships  revived,  the  new  ones  founded,  and  the  changes  im- 
pressed on  every  object  and  institution  of  taste,  feeling,  and 
opinion,  during  the  interval  '  of  our  absence,  have  left  no 
breathing  time  for  reflection.  I  have  not  yet  found  leisure 
to  register  a  single  impression  for  my  own  amusement,  or 
haply  for  that  of  a  world,  which,  it  must  be  allowed,  is  not 
very  difficult  to  amuse. 

Still  the  bright  Aurora  of  my  return  to  the  land  of  my 
predilection  has  not  risen  cloudless :  a  mist  has  passed 
across  the  glow  of  its  horizon  ;  and  the  light  of  the  bril- 
liant welcome,  wliicii  has  been  given  me  in  this  capital  of 
European  intellect,  (like  the  sunshine  of  the  month  that 
brought  me  here,)  has  been  sullied  by  a  tear,  which  no 
sunshine  can  dry  at  its  source,  or  restrain  from  falling. 

The  morning  of  my  arrival,  I  took  up  my  old  Paris  visit- 
ing book  for  1818,  to  look  for  addresses,  to  dispatch  cards  to 
old  acquaintances,  and  notes  to  friends,  after  tho  Parisian 
fashion.  The  first  name  that  met  my  eye  was  one  which 
made  me  shudder,  and  feel,  as  I  had  felt  when  I  broke  the 
black  seal  of  the  letter  which  so  unexpectedly  announced 
the  decease  of  its  owner.  Well  might  that  distinguished 
name  present  itself  the  first  upon  the  list.  The  lirst  hand 
that  was  wont  to  hail  our  return  to  France,  was  Denon's  ;  the 
first  cordial  smile  that  gave  us  the  warm  assurance  of  a  wel- 
come was  his.  Other  hands  were  now  extended,  other 
smiles  beamed  now  as  brightly  ;  but  his  were  dimmed  for 
ever ! 

The  brightest  aspect  of  the  national  character,  in  other 
times,  and  under  other  institutions,  was  preserved  and  pre- 
sented in  the  person  of  Denon.  Kind,  courteous,  cordial, 
gay,  witty,  and  learned,  he  was  not  only  the  most  agreeable 
and  instructive  of  companions,  but  the  most  obliging  and 
serviceable  of  friends.  His  brilliant  and  varied  conversa- 
tion "was  a  book  in  which  men  might  read  strange  things." 
The  page,  minister,  and  gentilhomme  de  la  chambre  of  Louis 
the  Fifteenth,  the  friend  of  Voltaire,  the  intimate  of  Napoleon, 


24  OUR  FIRST  DAYS  IN  PARIS. 

the  traveller  and  historian  of"  modern  Egypt,  the  director  of 
the  Mus6e  of  Fiance,  when  Paris  was  the  museum  of  the 
world, —  as  courtier,  diplomatist,  author,  artist,  antiquarian,  he 
had  passed  the  ordeal  of  the  greatest  changes,  the  most  vio- 
lent transitions,  the  world  had  ever  seen  ;  and  he  had  passed 
them  with  principles  unshaken  and  feelings  unworn.  All  this 
was  Denon ;  but  though  he  were  not  all,  or  any  of  this,  st'iU 
he  suited  ?«e — /  suited  him.  The  same  follies  made  us 
laugh,  the  same  crimes  made  us  sad.  There  was  between 
us  that  sympathy,  in  spite  of  the  disparity  of  years  and  ta- 
lents, which,  whether  in  trifles  or  essentials, — between  the 
frivolous  or  the  profound, — makes  the  true  basis  of  those 
ties,  so  sweet  to  bind,  so  bitter  to  break !  As  I  drew  my  pen 
across  his  precious  and  historical  name,  1  felt  as  if  I  was 
throwing  earth  on  his  grave  ! 

The  next  came  my  old  and  kind  friend,  Madame  de  Vi- 
lette,  the  '' belle  et  bonne'^  of  Voltaire;  tome,  the  link  be- 
tween the  last  age  and  the  present ;  she,  too,  was  gone,  for 
ever !  and  then  came  Ginguene,  Talma,  Langlois,  Lanjui- 
nais, — hut  I  closed  the  book ;  and  with  the  feelings  with 
which  Macbeth  flings  away  tl»e  magic  mirror,  involuntarily 
exclaimed,  "  I'll  see  no  more."  So,  closing  my  eyes,  as  I 
might,  upon  the  past,  and  giving  myself  up  to  the  hope  of  the 
future,  under  the  influence  of  a  climate  which  developes  a 
sensibility  prompt,  not  deep,  I  threw  open  the  window  to  the 
sunshine  and  fresh  air,  which  poured  in  with  a  burst  of  light 
and  odour.  I  thought  of  all  that  death  had  left  me,  of  the 
"  greater  still  behind  ;''  for  Lafayette,  and  many  other  illus- 
trious friends,  whom  time  has  spared  for  the  benefit  and 
glory  of  their  nation,  still  live, — each  in  his  way,  a  specimen 
of  that  genius  and  virtue  which,  in  all  regions,  and  in  all 
ages,  make  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  human  excellence. 


[25] 


OLD  AND  NEW  PARIS. 

Tvlucii  may  be  seen  in  a  great  capital,  before  a  stranger  is 
supposed  to  have  seen  any  thing.  Much  may  be  inferred 
from  the  outline  and  surface,  before  time  and  opportunity  are 
aftorded  for  analyzing  elements,  or  sounding  depths.  To 
day,  the  exigencies  and  incidents  of  my  manifold  little  busi- 
nesses-, pleasures,  duties,  and  amusements,  seconded  by 
French  job  horses,  whose  patient  endurance  of  fatigue  ap- 
proaches to  the  impassibility  of  a  steam-engine,  carried  me 
nearly  through  all  Paris.  The  charming  city  !  Every  house 
is  a  monument ;  every  quarter  has  its  annals,  where  the  very 
stones  furnish  memoirs,  as  those  of  R6me  are  said  to  embody 
histories  ;  and  where  the  names  of  the  streets  point  to  the 
leading  epochs  of  time,  when  bigotry  destroyed,  or  philoso- 
phy  benefitted  mankind.-  In  the  narrow  avenues  and  gloomy 
edifices  of  the  ancient  quartiers,  what  food  for  meditation  ! 
Plague,  pestilence,  and  sudden  death,  seem  to  lurk  in  their 
ill  ventilated  and  uncleansed  thoroughfares.  The  faithful 
descriptions  of  Old  Paris  are  not  to  be  perused  without  a  sen- 
sation  of  horror.*  The  very  enumeration  of  its  localities  be- 
trays a  moral  state  as  baleful  as  the  physical.  The  "  Rue 
Mal-voisin,"  leading  to  the  "  Rue  Coupe-gorge,^^  and  the 
"  V'al  de  Misere"  running  parallel  to  the  "  Rue  Coupe-gous- 
set,^'  indicate  the  insecurity  and  the  suffering  of  a  barbarous 
and  an  undisciplined  people.  In  great  and  crowded  cities, 
nothing  favours  crime  more  than  the  existence  of  such  ob- 
scure shelters  for  the  degraded  and  the  vicious.  Filth  and 
offence,  darkness  and  outrage,  go  but  too  well  together.  The 
axiom  of  Comus,  that  "  'Tis  only  day-light  that  makes  sin," 
though  good  poetry,  is  but  indifferent  philosophy.  Day-light 
reveulS)  and  by  revealing,  abashes  and  baffles  crime.  When 
all  Paris  was,  what  some  of  its  oldest  quarters  still  are,  every 
species  of  violence  was  publicly  committed  in  its  streets. 
"  Chose  ^travge,'"  exclaims  the  naive  L'Estoile,  the  annalist 

*  "  Des  rues  trfroites  et  torteuses  telles  (ju'oii  eii  voit  encore  dans  les 
plus  anciens  quartiers  decetle  ville,  ct  iiotamnieiit  dans  celui  qui  est  au 
noid  de  Notre  Dame,  bordees  (si  Ton  exceple  les  editices  publiques)  de 
tiisles  chaumiires-,  les  rues  denuees  de  pave,  pleiiies  d'immondices, 
jamais  netloyees,  bourbeuses,  inalsaines,  iic.  &c.  &ic." — Delaure. 
Vol.  I.— 3 


26  OLD  AND  NEW  PARIS. 

of  Henry  the  Fourth, — "  chose  Strange  de  dire,  que  dans  une 
ville  telle  que  Paris,  se  commettent  avec  impunity  des  villiinies 
ei  brigandages,  tout  ainsi  que  dans  une pleineforit.^'*  Down 
to  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century,  organized  bandittis 
patrolled  the  streets,  who,  equipped  with  masks  and  daggers, 
stabbed  and  robbed  passengers,  pillaged  houses  in  open  day, 
plundered  passage-boats  on  the  Seine,  under  the  windows  of 
the  royal  palace,  and  retired,  unmolested  by  the  authorities, 
to  their  dens,  in  the  desolate  suburbs,  beyond  the  walls  ; 
where  none  had  the  courage  to  pursue  them.  Such  were 
the  well-known  band,  who,  by  the  name  of  the  "  mauvais 
garcons,"  set  an  example  of  successful  rapacity,f  which  even 
princes,  instead  of  punishing,  imitated  for  the  purposes  of 
their  own  vengeance,  or  of  amusement. 

In  the  light,  airy,  and  spacious  streets  of  modern  Paris, 
the  chances  of  concealment  and  impunity  are  infinitely  les- 
sened :  nor  is  the  benefit  of  modern  philosophy  less  appa- 
rent in  destroying  the  physical  causes  of  crime,  by  bettering 
the  condition  of  the  people,  improving  their  security  and 
health,  and  raising  them  above  the  temptations  to  criminality, 
than  in  amending  the  laws,  and  rendering  them  more  effi- 
cient safeguards  of  the  citizen,  from  the  violence  and  injus- 
tice of  both  great  and  little  offenders. 

*  *"Tis  a  strange  thing  to  tell,  that  in  a  city  like  Paris,  all  sorts  of 
villanies  and  robberies  are  committedvith  impunity;  as  if  it  were  in 
the  midst  of  a  forest."     Thus  also  the  Homer  of  Cartouche  sings  : — 

*'  Dans  Paris,  ce  beau  lieu,  toujours  si  frequcnte, 

Personne  ne  pous^oit  marcher  en  surete  ; 

Cartouche  et  ses  supots,  de  richesses  avides, 

Remplissoient  la  cite  de  vols  et  d'homicides ; 

Les  archers  les  plus  fiers,  et  les  plus  valeureux, 

Abalus,  constenies,  n'osoient  marcher  contre  eux." 
t  "  Le  12  anflt,  1659,  le  procureur  gtn'ral  se  plaint  auparlement  que 
des  solclals  dcbandes  de  I'armee  du  mi,  joints  a  des  VHgabonds,  s'ttaient 
rendiis  Et  Paris,  et  d'accord  avec  les  filous  ordinaires  de  cctte  ville,  com- 
metlaient  plusieurs  vols  tant  de  jour  que  de  nuit." — Registres  du  Parte- 
m.nt. 

This  lawless  condilion  of  the  lower  classes,  was  encouraged  by  the 
example  of  the  piivileged  nobles  ;  the  king  himself  authorizing  them  in 
their  frequent  assassinations,  by  the  pardons  he  so  unworthily  bestow- 
ed. In  the  year  165G  Rene  de  L'H6|)ilal  murdered  a  clergyman  for  the 
sake  of  his  benefice,  togellier  with  a  procureur  fiscal,  who  was  (ravel- 
ling in  the  unfortunate  man's  company  ;  but  he  was  pSrdoned,  because 
1(0  was  the  son  of  tlie  IMarerhal  de  L'Hopital,  who  was  the  friend  of 
Mnzarin.  "  Uy  a  bien  ifaulri s exem/ilcs,"  says  a  modern  historian,  "  de 
pareils  aVentnts  conlre  Vordre  civil  et  mural,  dont  on  petU  accuser  la  mimoire 
de  Louis  XIV." 


OLD  AND  NEW  PARIS.  27 

In  the  7^.  ugustan  age  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  when  poets 
were  pensioned,  and  "  la  languefut  Jixt'e,'^  as  modern  classic- 
ists  have  it,  (that  is,  when  the  king  set  bounds  ahke  to  the 
capital  and  to  Uie  intellect  of  his  people)  such  was  the  igno- 
rance of  the  sovereign  and  his  ministers,  that  an  attempt  to 
enlarge  the  limits  of  the  crov.ded  metropolis,  was  deemed  an 
invasion  of  the  royal  prerogative.  The  seventeenth  century 
but  quoted  precedents  for  the  propagation  of  pestilence,  frona 
the  16th  and  15th  ;  for  Henry  tlie  Second,  in  1548,  issued 
an  edict  to  pievent  the  enlargement  of  the  city,  by  building 
beyond  the  wall  ;  Louis  the  Thirteenth  passed  a  similar  law 
ill  1h38;  and  Louis  the  Fourteenth  in  council  decreed,  that 
a  *'  statement  should  be  drawn  up  of  the  boundaries  of  Paris^ 
and  of  tbe  houses  which  had  been  built  beyond  them."  By 
another  act,  he  declared  that  the  government  would  permit 
the  proprietors  of  such  houses  to  retain  their  buildings,  as 
they  were,  on  paying  a  tax  of  about  one-tenth  of  the  value ; 
but  ordered  the  demolition  of  those  houses,  whose  owners 
should  neglect  to  pay  the  prescribed  sum  within  a  certain 
limited  time:  yet  in  this  day,  the  inhabitants  were  lodged 
even  on  the  bridges,  and  under  the  very  roofs  of  the  houses. 
When  it  is  remembered  that  the  immense  number  of  con- 
vents, founded  within  the  walls  of  Paris  by  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth, by  his  mother,  wife,  and  mistresses — all  large  edifices 
with  spacious  courts  and  gardens — entrenched  on  the  ground 
assigned  for  the  residence  of  the  citizens  ; — that  the  court 
drew  to  the  capital  all  the  ambition,  wealth,  and  luxury  of 
the  provinces  ; — that  the  parliaments  and  tribunals  filled  the 
city  with  pleaders,  their  clients,  and  witnesses; — that  the 
academies  and  libraries  made  it  the  centre  of  literature  and: 
the  sciences  ; — that  the  increase  of  public  amusements,  and 
the  splendour  exhibited  by  the  nobility,  all  contributed  to 
draw  strangers  to  the  metropolis,  to  quadruple  its  population, 
and  to  make  it  "  deborder  de  son  enceinte,^' — it  seems  scarce- 
ly credible  that  the  government  should  have  passed  such  ilK 
conceived  laws,  and  mistaken  its  own  most  obvious  necessi- 
ties.  Yet  this  is  the  age,  quoted  as,  par  excellence,  intellec- 
tual. A  tragedy  of  Racine,  or  a  sermon  by  Bossuet,  was 
deemed  the  proof  of  a  condition  beyond  which  human  genius, 
could  never  reach. 

All  the  edifices  raised  in  this  gorgeous  reign,*  are  so  ma-. 

*  "  Les  tnaisons  semblent  ici  t)Aties  par  des  pliilosnphes,  plufot  que 
par  des  architectes,  tant  elles  sont  grossieres  pn  ci;^h(irs;  niais  elles  sont 
bieli  ornOes  en  dedans.    Cependaiit  elles  n'ont  rien  de  rare,  que  la  mag- 


28  OLD  AND  NEW  PARIS. 

ny  monuments  of  the  i:. satiable  pride  and  perrfonal  vanity  of 
him,  who  gave  the  age  its  ci>aracter.  Even  the  opening  of 
the  Rue  de  la  Ferronniere,  which  by  its  narrowness  had  as- 
sisted in  causing  the  death  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  was  made 
conducive  to  the  gratification  of  this  weakness  ;  and  exhibit- 
ed at  one  of  its  corners  the  royal  bust,  dressed  in  the  accus- 
tomed voluminous  peruke.  All  improvement  was  made  with 
reference  to  tlie  king  and  his  nobihty,  who,  secluded  and 
sheltered  in  their  pa'aces,  surrounded  by  spacious  courts  and 
gardens,  felt  not  the  misery  of  the  citizens,  shut  up  in  their 
narrow  streets  and  filth}^  habitations,  exposed  to  the  inunda- 
tions of  the  Seine  (which  frequently  swept  away  the  houses 
from  the  bridges  and  banks,)  and  to  the  devastations  of  pes- 
tilence, which,  under  various  forms,  filled  those  hospitals, 
the  glories  of  a  monarch,  whose  bad  laws  and  bad  police  had 
rendered  them  so  necessary. 

In  the  improvements  of  Paris  with  which  I  was  so  much 
struck  in  the  course  of  my  morning's  drive,*  the  greater  part 
is  for  the  advantage  of  the  people,  rather  than  for  the  honour 
of  the  privileged.  Old  streets  have  been  opened,  and  new 
ones  laid  down,  of  sufficient  width.  Arcades  give  shelter, 
and  passages  afford  facility  of  communication.  IVottoirs 
are  every  where  in  the  course  of  formation  ;  in  the  new 
streets  continuously,  and  in  the  old  by  patciies."]' 

It  is  remarkable,  that  while  the  scale  of  domestic  archi- 
tecture in  Paris  is  diminishing,  in  order  to  provide  the  com- 
forts of  individual  proprietorship  for  householders  of  small  for- 
tunes, the  dwellings  of  the  citizens  of  London,  are  in  their 
way  also  considerably  improved.  1'his  demand  for  space 
and  air  is  not   more   a  result  of  police    regulation,    than  of 

nificence  des  tapisseries,  dcint  les  raurailles  sont  co«ver(es.'~ — Charac- 
ter oj  Paris  in  Ihc  17th  Cenlury,  by  an  Italian  Traveller. 

*  A,  copious  memoir  has  been  drawn  tip  by  the  Gomte  de  CItabrfxl 
witli  great  ability,  on  the  ameliorations  and  embellishments  of  wliich 
Paris  is  still  susceptible,  and  which  it  is  projiosed  progressively  to  exe- 
cute— the  enlargement  and  n''"king  straight  of  t  c  streets,  the  improve- 
ment of  comnuinicaiions,  increased  salubrity,  the  removal  of  nuisan- 
ces, &c.  &c.  ^'C.  "i'he  rxeoiilion  of  these  plans  will  increase  the  su- 
perficies of  the  streets  of  Paris  ri96.481  square  metres,  that  of  tlie  Quais 
21,516,  and  that  of  the"  L  laces"  16,012. 

t  In  the  old  streets,  lime  was  allowed  for  the  inhabitants  In  lay  down 
the  trc'Joirs  :  I  believe,  three  years.  In  this  operation,  the  individuals 
and  the  government  each  contribute  ha'f  of  the  e^ipense  ;  and  as  the  pe- 
riod has  not  yet  expired  within  which  the  whole  is  to  be  completed,  the 
existing  state  of  the  pavement  shews  the  relative  degree  of  eatcrprii^Q 
and  activity  of  each  householder 


OLDr  AND  NEAV  PARIS.  29 

what  may  be  considered  almost  a  new  sense  in  the  inhabit- 
ants. The  wealthy  merchants  of  London  will  no  longer  coiv 
sent  to  dwell,  as  their  ancestors  did,  in  the  narrow,  stifling 
courts  and  alleys  in  which  their  counting-houses  stand,  but 
have  emigrated  westward,  to  tenant  the  numerous  squares, 
the  peculiar  ornament  of  the  modern  capital.  The  opening 
of  Regent  Street,  and  the  other  similar  improven.ents  now 
going  on  in  the  metropolis,  are  in  strict  accordance  with  pub- 
lic opinion,  with  the  wants  and  wishes  of  the  people,  to  whom 
these  changes  are  an  act  of  deference.  In  both  countries 
the  tiers  etat  are  rising  in  importance  ;  and  an  attention  tO; 
their  health  and  comfort  is  forced  upon  the  government.  It 
is  lamentable,  however,  to  be  obliged  to  add,  that  the  influ^ 
ence  of  excessive  taxation  shews  itself  in  England  rnder  a 
thousand  forms  of  suflering  and  annoyance,  to  whic'^  French- 
men are  less  exposed.  'I'othis  cause  must  be  attributed  the 
Lilliputian  scale  on  which  the  houses  of  our  artisans  are  still 
built ;  and  what  is  worse,  the  insufficient  and  perilous  man- 
ner in  which  they  are  put  together.  The  conseo,uence  is 
the  almost, daily  occurrence  of  fires,  attended  but  too  fre- 
quently by  loss  of  life.  From  the  narrow  scantling  of  the 
timbers,  rendered  thin  as  laths,  to  meet  the  imposts  upon  the 
article,  a  modern  tenement  of  this  class  may  be  considered 
as  a  box  of  matches,  or  rather  as  a  pile  constructed  for  the 
express  purpose  of  being  involved  in  flames,  in  the  short3S(? 
possible  time  after  applying  the  spark.  The  quantity  of 
wealth  thus  annually  destroyed  is  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
value  of  the  duty,  and  is,  therefore,  most  burthensome  and 
wasteful  to  the  nation.  But  the  fiscal  daemon  is  a  blind  and 
uncalculating  spirit,  which  requires  the  frequent  interven- 
tion of  the  schoolmaster  to  exorcise  it,  and  keep  its  activity 
within  decent  bounds. 

The  splendid  Rue  de  Rivoli  is  a  monument  justifying  in 
itself  the  revolution,  and  typifying,  in  its  actual  state,  as 
contrasted  with  what  has  preceded  it,  the  immense  benefits 
which  that  calumniated-  event  has  showered  on  the  human 
species.  In  the  rei^n  of  Henri  III.,  the  ground  on  which 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli  now  stands,  was  principally  occupied  by 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  and  wealthy  monasteries  of  the 
powerful  order  of  Capuchins.*  Towards  the  close  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  when   the    progress  of  the   reformation 

*  Here  also  was  the  monastery  of  the  FeuillajQS,  from  which  one  of 
the  terraces,  of  the  Tuiieries  takes  its  name. 

3* 


30  OLD  AND  NEW  PARIS. 

gave  new  alarm  to  the  intriguing  courts  of  Rome  and  Spaii/, 
they  resolved  on  reinforcing  the  cohorts  of  the  teachers  and 
ministers  of  Catholicism,  by  the  establishment  of  an  order 
which  should  obtain  the  same  influence  over  the  consciences 
of  the  people  which  the  more  learned  and  astute  Jesuits  pos- 
sessed over  the  courts  and  aristoci'acies  of  Europe.  The 
bigoted  and  profligate  Henri  III.,  to  whom  every  vice  was 
familiar,  and  by  whom  every  superstitious  rite  was  praciised, 
lent  himself  to  the  schemes  of  the  Vatican  and  Escurial, 
which  ended  in  his  own  assassination  by  one  of  their  agents. 
The  order  of  Capuchins,  thus  introduced  into  France,  was 
nobly  endowed,  and  taken  under  the  "  especial  protection  and 
safeguard  of  the  king."  Their  convent,  situated  in  the  Rue 
St.  Honore,  with  its  courts,  gardens,  and  church,  extended  to 
the  very  walls  of  the  royal  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  and  con- 
stituted the  most  considerable  and  magnificent  of  all  the 
Capucinieres  of  the  kingdom.  An  hundred  and  twenty 
monks,  with  their  numei'ous  train  of  followers,  lived  there, 
like  princes,  and  ruled  like  despots,  beyond  the  power  both 
of  the  law  and  the  sovereign.  The  consumption  of  their 
able,  as  registered  in  their  own  books,  exceeds  belief ;  and 
their  qudlcurs,  wlio  daily  scoured  the  streets  of  Paris,  and 
beset  the  citizens,  levied  contributions,  which  were  an  ex- 
orbitant tax  on  the  industry  of  the  city. 

The  power  and  influence  of  these  monks  was  first  invaded, 
and  the  dark  hokls  of  their  crimes  first  broken  in  upon,  by 
the  dawning  illumination  of  an  age,  whose  fulness  will  dispel 
every  ancient  error  and  delusion.  In  the  ^ear  1764  the 
vices  and  the  quarrels  of  the  brotherhood,  and  the  scanda- 
lous  scenes  to  which  they  gave  rise,  produced  a  public  pro- 
secution. The  attention  of  the  nation  thus  awakened,  led 
to  still  further  inquiries.  The  trial  brought  to  light  un- 
guessed-at  enormities.  Crimes  were  proved,  horrors  reveal- 
ed, and  the  establishment  became  a  bye-word  of  popular  dis- 
like. At  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolution  it  was  the  first 
devoted  to  public  execration  ;  and  in  the  year  1790,  the  na- 
tional assembly  charged  the  municipality  of  Paris  to  cause 
the  building  to  be  evacuated  and  cleared  out,  for  the  purpose 
of  establishing  the  public  offices  on  the  site  of  this  vast  and 
once  impenetrable  hold. 

In  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.,  that  reign  of  feebleness  and 
procrastination,  of  projects  wisely  conceived  and  indolently 
adjourned,  the  opening  of  the  capital  had  become  a  subject 
of  discussion,  but  of  discussion  only.     In  the  first  epochs  of 


OLD  A>'D  NF.W  PARIS.  31 

the  revolution  there  was  neither  money  nor  leisure  to  devoid 
to  such  a  purpose.  The  revenues  of  the  nation  were  all  re- 
quired  to  purchase  those  victories,  which  were  necessary  to 
its  very  existence.  The  ruins  of  the  Capuchin  monastery, 
tjierefore,  continued  to  present  a  mass  of  rubbish,  intersect- 
ed with  rude  walls,  and  hovels  built  up  to  the  very  gales  of 
the  Tuileries,  v.hich  it  required  means  to  clear  away,  not  pos- 
sessed either  ui-.-ier  tiie  directory  or  the  consulate.  It  was 
not,  therefore,  till  the  year  1804,  that  the  great  embellisher 
of  cities,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  directed  his  attention  to  this 
spot,  and  removed  the  remnants  of  the  "  graride  Capiici- 
nitrey  Then  it  was,  that  the  Rues  de  Rivoli,  Castiglione, 
and  Mont  Thabor,  sprang  up  like  magic,  with  their  arcades 
and  passages  for  the  embellishment  of  the  capital,  the  facili- 
ty of  trade,  and  for  the  health,  pleasure,  and  amusement  of 
the  people. 

When  we  first  visited  Paris,  this  magnificent  plan  was  ex- 
cuted  only  to  a  very  partial  and  limited  extent.  The  Rue  de 
Rivoli  was  still  encumbered  with  scafiolding,  and  with  large 
blocks  of  stone,  and  it  looked  like  a  great  quarry,  out  of  whose 
roughness  some  noble  forms  and  fine  proportions  might  here- 
after- be  developed  by  the  sledge  and  chisel.  At  present, 
the  grer.t  monument  of  French  improvement  is  finished  ; 
and  tlie  Rue  de  Rivoli,  with  the  beautiful  gardens  in  which 
it  opens,  and  the  noble  views  it  commands,  from  the  Champs 
Elysees  to  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  stands  less  a  triumph- 
al testimony  of  the  victory  its  name  recalls,  than  of  the  phy- 
sical and  moral  advancement  which  a  few  years  of  self- 
government  can  impress  on  a  nation. 

In  comparing  the  present  aspect  of  the  scene,  with  the 
"  oubliettes^''  and  "  vade-in-pace'^*  cells,  which  may.  have 
haply  occupied  the  very  site  of  the  luxurious  dressing-room 
in  which  these  notes  are  penned,  the  contrast  is  so  terribly 
striking,  that  the  feelings  and  fancy  would  willingl}  take 
shelter  in  a  belief  that  such  horrors  had  never  existed  :  but 
history  leaves  our  sympathies  no  such  resource  ;  and  if  the 
unhallowed  vows  of  a  party  should  once  more  recall  the 
"  F-reres  Anges"  of  the  Capuchins,  this  boudoir  may  again 
become  a  ^' vade-in-pace,"  \vhere  some  such  refractory 
daughter  of  the  church  and  state,  as  myself,  may  expiate  her 


"  "  Vade  in  pace,"  was  the  disgusting,  hyopocritical  formula  witli 
which  the  Capuchins  took  leave  of  the  unfortunate  offender  against  the 
rules  of  the  order  whom  ihey  inntnured  alive. 


32  GENERAL  LAFAYETTE. 

rebellions  against  the  orthodox  maxims  of  social  order, —  as 
I  have  expiated  the  sin  of  denouncing  their  iniquity  in  the 
"  carcero  duro"  of  ministerial  reviews. 


GENERAL  LAFAYETTE. 

"  But  the  chief  gods  of  her  idolatry  are  the  vain,  feeble, 
doating  coxcomb,  Lafayette  ;  who  after  indulging  his  vanity, 
by  insulting  the  king  and  overturning  the  throne,  fled  basely 
from  the  storm  which  he  had  raised  ;  and  only  returned  to 
public  life  to  take  a  seat  in  Bonaparte's  Champ  de  Mai,  dec. 
&c." 

Quarterly  Review  on  "  France,"  April,  1827. 

Such  is  the  picture  of  General  Lafayette,  presented  to  the 
British  public  by  the  Quarterly  Review,  in  its  attack  upon 
my  work  on  France  in  1817.     Now  that 

"  The  hurly  biirlj''s  done, 
And  the  battle's  lost  and  won," 

it  will  scarcely  be  credited  that  such  a  statement,  in  defiance 
of  historical  fact,  and  of  cotemporary  witnesses,  and  in  utter 
recklessness  of  European  opinion,  should  have  been  put 
forth  to  the  British  public,  to  work  upon  its  timidity,  and  to 
insult  its  ignorance.  Yet  this  picture  of  the  idol  of  two 
great  nations,  of  the  friend  of  Washington  and  of  Jefl!erson, 
of  Fox  and  of  La  Rochefoucauld,  of  the  respected  of  Na- 
poleon>  and  the  eulogized  of  Charles  the  Tenth — of  the  most 
illustriously  virtuous  man  of  his  age  and  country,  of  the  most 
consistent  public  character  in  ancient  or  modern  story — this 
picture,  in  which  every  trait  is  a  falsehood,  and  every  touch 
,  a  calumny,  was  risked  by  the  paid  organ  of  the  British  go- 
vernment,  and  was  received  unquestioned  by  the  British  na- 
tion !  From  what  a  slough  of  slavery,  from  what  a  mire  of 
prejudice,  folly,  and  self-satisfied  debasement,  has  England 
emerged,  since  the  very  recent  epoch,  when  such  things^ 


GENERAL  LAFAYETTE.  33 

could  be  dared,  and  tho  actors  bo  rewarded  and  cheered  by 
a  myslitied  public  ! 

Without  searching  deep  into  the  annals  of  modern  France 
for  a  political  portrait  of  Lafayette,  there  are  many  sketches 
of  him  scattered  througii  dilfcrcnt  works,  in  dilFerent  lan- 
guages, by  various  hands,  of  dilTerent  talents  and  diiTerent 
shades  of  political  creed,  which  all  combine  to  rei)resent 
him  as  one  of  the  most  virtuous  public  and  private  charac- 
ters that  ever  honoured  or  illustrated  humanity.  I  have  my- 
self  given  some  anecdotes  of  this  extraordinary  man  in  my 
former  work  on  France  ;  but  the  present  state  of  the  country 
would  not  be  faithfully  depicted,  Avere  all  further  notice  of 
him  omitted  ;  and  the  model  his  example  holds  fo-th  is  too 
valuable  to  leave  anj'  apology  necessary  for  entering  on  the 
subject  somewhat  more  in  detail,  and  giving  a  biographical 
portrait  of  General  Lafayette  up  to  the  eporih  when  we  had 
first  the  honour  of  making  his  acquaintance,  and  of  winning 
a  friendship  and  enjoying  i  correspondence,  that  will  long,  I 
trust,  continue  the  boast  and  the  happiness  of  our  lives. 

General  Lafayette  was  born  in  Auvergne,  on  the  6th  of 
September,  1757 ;  and  was  sent  at  an  early  age  to  the  col- 
lege of  Du  Plessis,  at  Paris,  where  he  received  a  classical 
education.  In  his  seventeenth  year  he  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  late  Due  de  Noailles,  and  grand-daughter  to  the 
great  uiid  good  Chancellor,  D'Aguesseau.  His  fortune  was 
vast — his  rank  was  with  the  first  in  Europe — his  connexions 
brought  him  the  support  of  the  chief  persons  in  France  ;  and 
his  individual  character,  the  warm,  open,  and  sincere  man- 
ners which  have  since  distinguished  him,  and  have  given  him 
such  singular  control  over  the  minds  of  men,  made  him 
powerful  in  the  confidence  of  society,  wherever  he  went. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  his  thoughts  and  feelings  were 
turned  to  the  struggles  of  the  American  colonies  against  the 
oppression  of  their  mother  country.  Nothing  could  be  less 
tempting  to  a  man  of  mere  personal  feelings  than  an  interfe- 
rence in  behalf  of  the  United  States  at  this  time.  Their  army 
was  in  retreat ;  their  credit  in  Europe  was  entirely  gone ; 
and  their  commissioners,  to  whom  Lafayette  still  persisted  in 
offering  his  services,  were  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  they 
could  not  oven  give  him  decent  means  for  his  conveyance. 
"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  purchase  and  fit  out  a  vessel  for 
myself."  He  did  so  ;  and  this  vessel  was  sent  to  one  of  the 
nearst  ports  of  Spain,  that  it  might  be  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
French  government.     It  was  not  till  he   was  on  his  way  to 


34  GENERAL  LAFAYETTE. 

embark  that  his  romantic  undertakino;  beffan  to  be  known, 
and  the  effect  was  greater  than  could  now  be  imagined.  At 
the  instigation  of  the  British  minister,  an  order  was  despatch- 
ed for  liis  arrest ;  and  a  letlre  de  cachet  overtook  him  at 
Bourdeaux,  where  he  was  arrested  :  but  assisted  by  friends, 
he  escaped  under  the  disguise  of  a  courier,  and  passed  the 
frontiers,  three  or  four  hours  before  his  pursuers  reached 
them.  The  sensation  produced  by  his  appearance  in  the 
United  States,  was  much  greater  than  that  excited  in  Europe 
at  his  departure.  This  event  still  stands  forth  as  one  of  the 
most  prominent  and  important  circumstances  in  the  contest ; 
and  none  but  tiiose  who  were  then  alive,  can  believe  what 
an  impulse  it  gave  to  the  hopes  of  a  population,  nearly  dis- 
heartened by  a  long  .series  of  disasters. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival,  Lafayette  received  the  offer 
of  a  command  in  the  American  army,  vi'hich  with  a  rare  mo- 
desty he  declined.  During  the  whole  of  his  service  he  seem- 
ed  desirous  to  render  disinterested  assistance  to  the  cause  in 
which  he  was  embarked.  He  began  by  clothing  and  equip- 
ping at  his  own  expense  a  body  of  men  ;  and  then  entered  as 
a  simple  volunteer,  without  pay,  into  the  service.  By  a  vote 
of  congress,  in  July,  1777,  he  was  appointed  a  major-gene- 
ral, and  in  the  following  September  was  wounded  at  Brandy- 
wine.  In  1778  he  was  employed  at  the  head  of  a  separate 
division ;  and  after  receiving  the  thanks  of  congress,  em- 
barked at  Boston  in  the  year  1779  for  France ;  where  his 
services  it  was  thought  would  be  more  effectual  than  at  the 
moment  they  could  be  in  America. 

He  arrived  at  Versailles  on  the  12th  of  February,  and  the 
same  day  had  a  long  conference  with  Maurepas,  the  prime 
minister,  though  he  was  not  permitted  to  see  the  king.  As 
a  punishment  for  having  left  France  without  permission,  he 
was  ordered  to  visit  none  but  his  own  relations  ;  but  as  he 
was  connected  by  birth  or  marriage  with  almost  the  whole 
court,  and  as  every  body  thronged  to  his  hotel,  the  order  fell 
lightly  upon  him.  By  his  personal  exertions  the  treaty  be- 
tween America  and  France,  then  on  foot,  was  hastened  and 
made  effective  in  favour  of  the  former.  For  he  laboured 
unremittingly  to  procure  from  his  government  a  fleet  and 
troops  ;  and  having  succeeded  in  this  object,  and  ascertain, 
ed  that  he  would  be  speedily  followed  by  Count  Rocham- 
beau,  he  again  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  joined  the  head 
quarters  of  the  American  army  in  May,  1780,  where  he 
confidentially  communicated  the  important  intelligence  to  the 


GENERAL  LAFAYETTE.  35 

commander-in-chief.  Immediately  on  his  return,  receiving 
the  separate  command  of  a  body  of  infantry  of  about  two 
thousand  men,  he  clothed  and  equipped  it  partly  at  his  own 
expense  ;  rendering  it  by  unwearied  exertions,  constant  sa- 
crifices, and  wise  discipline,  the  best  corps  in  the  army. 
His  forced  march  to  Virginia,  (raising  two  thousand  guineas 
on  his  own  credit,  to  supply  the  pressing  wants  of  his  troops) 
his  rescue  of  Richmond,  his  long  trial  of  generalship  with 
Cornwallis,  and,  finally,  the  siege  of  York  town,  the  storm- 
ing the  redoubt,  and  the  reduction  of  the  place,  in  Octobe;', 
1781,  are  proofs  of  his  talents  as  a  military  commander,  and 
of  his  devotion  to  the  welfare  of  the  United  States. 

Congress  had  already  repeatedly  acknowledged  these  ser- 
vices ;  but,  in  November,  1781,  when  he  again  returned  to 
France,  they  passed  a  resolution,  desiring  (among  other  ex- 
pressions of  approbation,)  the  foreign  ministers  of  their  go- 
vernment to  confer  with  him  in  their  negociations  concerning 
American  affairs  ; — a  mark  of  respect  and  deference,  of 
which  no  other  example  is  probably  known. 

In  France  a  brilliant  reputation  had  preceded  him  ;  the 
cause  of  America  was  already  popular  there.  On  his  re- 
turn, he  was  followed  by  crowds  in  the  public  streets,  where- 
ever  he  went  ;  and,  in  a  journey  he  made  to  his  estates  in 
the  south,  the  towns  through  which  he  passed,  received  him 
with  processions  and  civic  honours  :  in  Orleans  he  was  de- 
tained a  week  by  the  festivities  prepared  for  him. 

In  the  mean  time  he  was  constantly  urging  upon  the  French 
government  the  policy  of  sending  out  more  troops  ;  and 
Count  d'Estaing  was  ordered  to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to 
sail  for  the  United  States,  as  soon  as  Lafayette  should  join 
him.  Forty-nine  ships,  and  fveiity  thousand  men,  were,  for 
this  p'.irpose,  assembled  at  Cadiz,  when  the  peace  rendered 
further  exertions  unnecessary.  This  great  event  was  first 
announCfc<!  to  congress  by  a  letter  from  Lafayette,  dated  in 
the  harbour  ofCadiz,  February  5,  1783. 

At  the  pressing  invitation  of  Washington,  Lafayette  revi- 
sitt^d  America  in  1784,  but  his  stay,  on  this  occasion,  was 
sliort.  When  about  to  depart  for  the  third,  and  as  it  then 
seemed,  the  last  time,  congress,  in  December,  1784,  ap- 
pointed  a  deputation  of  one  men  her  from  each  state,  with 
instnictKjris  to  take  leave  of  him  on  behalf  of  the  whole 
country,  and  to  assure  him,  "  that  these  United  States  re- 
gard him  with  particular  affection,  and  will  not  cease  to  feel 
an  interest  in  whutever  may  concern  his  honour  and  prospe- 


36  GENERAL  LAFAYETTE^ 

rity  ;  and  that  their  best  and  kindest  wishes  will  always  at* 
tend  him."  It  was  at  the  same  time  resolved,  that  a  letter 
be  written  to  his  most  Christian  Majesty,  expressive  of  the 
high  sense  the  United  States,  in  congress  assembled,  enter- 
lained  of  the  talents  and  meritorious  services  of  Lafayette, 
and  recommending  him  to  the  favour  and  patronage  of  his 
Majesty. 

In  1805  he  went  for  a  short  time  to  Prussia,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  seeing  the  troops  of  Frederick  the  Second,  and  was 
received  with  distinguished  kindness  and  consideration  by 
that  monarch  ;  but  the  grave  and  perilous  discussions  which 
were  then  going  forward  in  France,  soon  called  him  back. 
He  was,  for  some  time,  ineflfectually  e-iploye*d  with  Males- 
herbes  in  endeavouring  to  relieve  the  Protestants  of  France 
from  political  disabilities ;  and  he  was  the  first  Frenchman 
who  raised  his  voice  against  the  slave  trade  ;  having  devoted 
considerable  sums  to  purchase  slaves,  and  educate  them  for 
emancipation. 

In  February,  1787,  the  Assembly  of  Notables  was  opened. 
Lafsyette  was  of  course  a  member,  and  the  tone  he  held 
gave  a  marked  character  to  its  deliberations.  He  it  was  who 
proposed  the  suppression  of  lettres  de  cachet,  and  the  enfran- 
chisement of  the  Protestants  ;  and  it  was  he  that  made  the 
motion  (and  it  was  the  first  time  that  this  word  was  ever  used 
in  France,  marking  an  important  step  towards  a  regular  de- 
liberative government)  for  the  convocation  of  representatives 
of  the  people. 

I  afayettc  was  also  a  prominent  member  of  the  States 
General,  which  met  in  1789,  and  assumed  the  name  of  the 
National  Arsembly.  The  Declaration  of  Rights  adopted  by 
this  body  was  his  production  ;  and  it  was  under  his  iuiluence, 
ana  v/Iiile  ae  was  lor  that  very  purpose  placed  in  the  chair, 
that  a  decree  was  prised  ((  i  the  14th  of  July,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  the  Bastille  was  fiilling)  which  provided  for  the 
responsibiiiiy  of  the  ministers  :  he  thus  furnished  one  of  the 
most  important  elements  of  a  representative  monarchy.  Two 
days  aftorwjif^s  he  vas  appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the 
nafion.l  guards  of  Paris. 

His  great  niilitary  commar^l,  and  his  still  greater  personal 
inPuence,  brought  him  equally  into  contact  with  the  court 
and  throne  ; — o  position  at  once  delicate  and  difficult.  The 
tendency  of  every  tiling  was  to  confusion  and  violence.  A 
famine  roigned  in  the  capital  ;  and  the  populace  of  the  faux- 
bourgs  (the  ?nost  degraded  in  France)  armed  themselves, 


GENERAL    LAFAYETTE.  37 

with  the  determuiation  of  going  to  Versailles  and  forcing  the 
king  to  reside  in  Paris.  The  national  guard  proposed  to  ac- 
conipan>  this  savage  multitude  ;  but  Lafayette  opposed  their 
inclination,  even  while  the  municipality  of  Paris  supported 
them  ;  and  it  was  not  until  an  exasperated  mob  of  above  an 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men  and  women  had  thronged  the 
road,  (with  arms  and  even  cannon  at  their  disposal,)  that  he 
consented  to  obtain  an  oi'der  to  march  from  the  authorities, 
and  set  off  to  what  had  become  the  post  of  danger,  and  which 
it  was  then  his  duty  to  occupy. 

He  arrived  at  Versailles  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  after  hav- 
ing  made  incredible  exertions,  both  at  Paris  and  on  the  road, 
to  control  the  multitude.  "  The  Marquis  de  la  Fayette," 
says  Madame  de  Stael,  "  at  last  entered  the  chateau,  and 
passing  through  the  apartment  where  we  were,  went  to  the 
king.  His  manner  was  perfectly  calm  :  nobody  ever  saw  it 
otherwise.  He  asked  for  the  interior  posts  of  the  chateau, 
and  was  refused :  only  the  outer  posts  were  granted  him." 
Lafayette  answered  therefore  for  these  posts,  but  he  answer- 
ed  for  no  more  ;  and  his  pledge  was  faithfully  and  despe- 
rately  redeemed.  Between  two  and  three  o'clock,  the  royal 
family  went  to  bed.  Lafayette  too  slept  after  the  great  fa- 
tigues of  the  day.  At  half.past  four,  a  portion  of  the  popu- 
lace broke  into  the  palace,  by  an  obscure  interior  passage 
which  had  been  overlooked  ;  and  which  was  not  in  that  part 
of  the  building  entrusted  to  the  General.  Lafayette  imme- 
diately rushed  in  with  the  national  troops,  protected  the 
guards  from  the  brutal  populace,  and  saved  the  lives  of  the 
ro3"al  fsmily. 

As  soon  as  it  was  light,  the  same  furious  multitude  filled 
the  vast  space  of  the  "  court  of  marble."  They  called  on 
the  king  to  go  to  Paris,  and  they  called  on  the  queen  to  ap- 
pear at  the  balcony.  The  king  announced  his  intention  to 
set  out  for  the  capital,  but  Lafayette  was  afraid  to  trust  the 
queen  in  the  midst  of  the  infuriate  multitude.  He  went  to 
her  therefore,  and  asked  if  it  were  her  purpose  to  accompany 
the  king.  She  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  he  prevailed 
upon  her  to  shew  herself,  with  him,  at  the  balcony.  —  "  Are 
you  positively  determined  ?" — "  Yes,  sir." — "  Condescend 
then  to  go  out  on  the  balcony,  and  suffer  me  to  attend  you." 
— "  Without  the  king  ?"  she  replied,  hesitatingly  ;  "  have 
you  observed  their  threats?" — "Yes,  madam,  I  have,  but 
dare  to  trust  me." 

When  they   appeared   together,   the   cries   of  the  crowd 
Vol.  L— 4 


3218.50 


38  GENEKAL  LAFAYETTE. 

rendered  it  in)possible  that  his  voice  could  be  heard.  It  was 
necessary,  therefore,  to  address  himself  to  the  eye  ;  and, 
turning  to  the  queen,  he  simply  kissed  her  hand,  before  the 
vast  multitude.  An  instant  of  silent  astonishment  ensued  ; 
but  the  whole  was  immediately  interpreted  ;  and  the  air  was 
rent  with  cries  of  "  Long  live  the  Queen,  long  live  the  Ge-. 
neral !"  The  Queen  reached  Paris  in  safety.  The  same 
day  that  this  scene  was  passing,  the  first  meeting  of  the  Ja- 
cobin club  was  held.  Against  this  club  Lafayette  at  once  de- 
clared himself.  Assisted  by  Bailly,  the  mayor  of  Paris,  he  or- 
ganized  another  club,  in  opposition  to  its  proceedings  ;  and  the 
victory  between  the  two  parties  remained  doubtful  for  above 
a  year  and  a  half.  The  contest,  however,  placed  Lafayette 
in  a  most  dangerous  position.  He  was  obliged  to  oppose  the 
Jacobins,  without  retreating  upon  the  ancient  despotism  ;  and 
it  is  greatly  to  his  honour,  that  he  did  this,  most  faithfully 
and  consistently,  and  without  committing  his  judgment  or 
principles. 

On  the  20th  of  June,  1790,  a  proposition  was  suddenly 
made  in  the  assembly  to  abolish  all  titles  of  nobility  ;  and 
Lafayette,  true  to  his  principles,  rose  to  second  it.  It  was 
objected  against  the  measure,  that  no  such  reward  could  af- 
terwards be  granted,  as  was  once  conferred  by  Henri  II., 
when  he  created  an  obscure  person  "  noble  and  count,  for 
having  saved  the  country  at  such  a  time."  "  The  only  dif- 
ference will  be,"  he  replied,  "  that  the  words  '  noble  and 
count'  will  be  left  out,  and  the  patent  will  simply  declare, 
that  on  such  an  occasion  such  a  man  saved  the  state."  From 
this  time  General  Laftiyette  renounced  his  title  of  Marquis, 
and  has  never  since  resumed  it. 

On  the  14th  of  July,  HOO,  (the  anniversary  of  the  fall  of 
the  Bastille,)  the  celebrated  acceptation  of  the  Constitution 
took  place  in  the  Champ  de  Mars.  On  this  day  the  General 
had  military  command  of  four  millions  of  men,  represented  by 
fourteen  thousand  elected  mihtary  deputies,  and  he  swore  to 
the  Constitution,  on  behalf  of  tlie  nation,  at  the  altar  which 
had  been  erected  in  the  midst  of  tiie  arena.  It  was  the 
most  magnificent  and  solemn  ceremony  the  world  had  ever 
seen  ;  and  perhaps  no  man  ever  enjoyed  the  sincere  confi- 
dence of  an  entire  people  more  completely  than  Lafayette 
did,  as  he  thus  bore  the  most  imposing  part  in  these  extraor- 
dinary solemnities. 

The  Jacobins  however  were  constantly  gaining  power  ; 
the  falsehood  of  the   court,  the  intrigues   of  the  emigrants, 


GENERAL  LAFAYETTE.  39 

and  the  hostile  attitude  of  foreign  governments,  all  combined 
to  prevent  the  constitution  from  taking  root.  Among  other 
weaknesses  that  had  destroyed  the  popularity  of  the  king,  he 
insisted  on  adopting  the  ministration  of  a  priest,  who  had 
not  taken  the  civil  oaths  ;  and  for  this  purpose  he  had  made 
arrangements  for  passing  the  Easter  at  St.  Cloud  ;  but  the 
populace  and  the  national  guards  tumultuously  stopped  the 
royal  carriage.  Lafayette  arrived  at  the  first  suggestion  of 
danger.  "If,"  said  he,  "tiiis  be  a  matter  of  conscience 
with  your  Majesty,  we  will,  if  it  be  necessary,  die  to  main- 
tain it  ;"  but  the  king  hesitated,  and  finally  determined  to  re- 
main  at  Paris.  Lafayette,  faithful  to  his  oaths,  now  defend- 
ed the  freedom  of  the  king  as  firmly  as  he  had  ever  done 
that  of  the  people  :  his  situation  therefore  became  daily 
more  dangerous.  He  might  have  been  appointed  constable 
of  France,  he  might  have  been  generalissimo  of  the  national 
guards,  but  he  thought  it  more  for  the  safety  of  the  state, 
that  no  such  power  should  exist  ;  and  at  the  dissolution  of 
the  constituent  assembly,  he  resigned  his  command  and  re- 
tired to  his  estate. 

In  April,  1792,  war  was  declared  against  France,  by  Aus- 
tria ;  and  Lafayette  was  appointed  one  of  the  three  generals 
to  command  the  French  armies.  But  the  Jacobins  were  fast 
maturing  their  arrangements  to  overturn  the  constitution. 
That  public  order,  of  which  Lafayette  had  never  ceased  to 
speak  on  all  suitable  occasions,  no  longer  existed.  Under 
these  circumstances,  with  a  courage,  which  few  men  in  any 
age  have  shewn,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  the  assembly,  in  which 
he  plainly  denounced  the  growing  fiiction  of  the  Jacobins, 
and  called  on  the  constituted  authorities  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
atrocities  they  were  openly  promoting.  In  the  course  of  this 
letter  he  dared  to  say,  "let  the  king  be  respected,  for  he  is 
invested  with  the  majesty  of  the  nation  ;  let  him  choose  a 
ministry  that  shall  wear  the  chains  of  no  faction  ;  and  if 
traitors  exist,  let  them  perish  only  under  the  sword  of  the  law." 
There  was  not  another  man  in  France,  who  would  have  dar- 
ed  to  take  such  a  step  at  such  a  time  ;  and  it  required  all  his 
vast  influence  to  protect  him  in  expressing  such  opinions. 

On  the  8th  of  August  his  impeachment  was  moved  ;  but 
even  then  more  than  two-thirds  of  the  assembly  voted  in  his 
favour.  At  length,  however,  the  Jacobin  party  prevailed  :  a 
majority  of  the  assembly,  intimidated  or  disgusted,  bad  ceas- 
ed to  attend  its  meetings ;  and  Lafayette,  unable  to  do  more 
in  Paris,  returned  to  the  array.     But  the  army  also  was  now 


40  GEXEKAL  LAFAYETTE, 

infected,  and  it  became  apparent  from  tiie  movements  both 
at  Paris  and  among  the  soldiers,  that  he  was  no  longer  safe. 
On  the  17th  of  August,  therefore,  accompanied  by  three  of 
his  general  ofHc<3is,  Alexandre  Lameth,  Latour  Maubourg, 
Bureau  de  Puzy,  lie  left  the  army ;  and  in  a  few  hours  was 
beyond  the  limits  of  France. 

On  the  same  night  the  exiles  were  seized  by  an  Austrian 
patrol,  and  exposed  to  the  most  disgraceful  indignities.  Com- 
mitted to  the  custody  of  the  Prussians,  (because  the  Prussian 
fortresses  were  nearest  at  hand,)  they  were  again  transferred 
to  the  keeping  of  the  Austrian?,  on  Prussia  making  a  separate 
peace;  and  they  were  finally  imprisoned  in  the  loathsome 
and  unhealthy  dungeons  of  Oimutz. 

Among  sufierings  to  which  Lafayette  was  here  exposed,  in 
the  mere  spirit  of  a  barbarous  revenge,  was  the  assurance 
that  he  should  never  again  see  any  thing  but  the  walls  of  his 
dungeon  ;  that  he  would  never  receive  news  of  events  or  per- 
sons  ;  that  his  name  would  be  unknown  in  the  citadel ;  thatj 
in  all  accounts  of  him  sent  to  court,  he  would  be  designated 
by  a  number ;  and  that  be  would  never  receive  any  notice  of 
his  family,  or  of  the  existence  of  his  tellow-prisoners.  His 
sufferings  proved  almost  bey<-nd  his  strength  ;  and  want  of 
air,  and  the  dampness  and  filth  of  his  dungeon,  brought  him 
more  than  once  to  the  borders  of  the  grave  ;*  at  the  same 
time,  that  his  estates  in  France  were  confiscated,  his  wife  cast 
into  prison,  and  Fayefteism  (as  adherence  to  the  constitutioa 
was  called)  was  punished  with  death. 

Among  those  who  made  the  most  vigorous  exertions  to  ob- 
tain information  of  Lafayette's  fate,  were  Count  Lally  Tolen- 
dal,  then  an  emigrant  in  London,  and  Dr.  Erick  Bollmann, 
an  Hanoverian,  whose  adventurous  spirit  led  him  to  engage 
in  the  attempt  to  discover  the  existence  of  the  General,  and 
his  place  of  confinement ;  and  to  procure  his  escape.  After 
g.  tedious  journey  to  Germany,  Dr.  Bollmann  returned  with- 
out having  procured  the  desired  intelligence.  But  the  iViends 
of  Lafayette  were  not  to  be  discouraged  ;  and,  in  June,  17!)4,. 
the  Doctor  returned  to  Germ.iny  to  renew  his  researches. 
With   great  difficulty  and    ingenuity   he  traced   the   French 

"  This  deles'ciWe  and  useless  tyranny  is  not  to  he  llinijgiit  of  as  of  a 
talc  of  otiier  times.  At  this  moment  the  same  scenes  are  passing  in  the 
dungeons  i,f  Spilsherg,  and  of  other  state  prisons  of  Anstiian  tyranny- 
where  the  Italian  p:itriots,  tlie  nol)le,  the  virtuous,  am)  the  enlightened 
arc,  atth.;  end  of  ten  years  of  unmitigated  suticring,  still  exjjoted  to  su 
mitar  treatment 


GENERAL  LAFAYETTE.  41 

prisoners  from  Prussia  to  their  prison  at  Olmutz,  communi- 
cated  his  projects  to  the  objects  of  his  enterprize^  and  re- 
ceived their  answers  ;  and,  after  a  lapse  of  several  months, 
it  was  determined  that  an  attempt  shotdd  be  made  to  rescue 
Lafayette,  while  on  one  of  the  airings  with  which,  on  account 
of  his  broken  health,  he  was  then  indulged.  In  this  enter- 
prize  was  associated  Francis  K.  Hugcr,  a  young  American,, 
accidentally  in  Austria  at  that  time.  As  the  parties  were 
personally  unknown  to  each  other,  it  was  arranged,  that 
when  the  rescue  was  to  be  attempted,  each  should  take  off 
his  hat,  and  wipe  his  forehead,  in  token  of  recognition. 

Having  ascertained  a  day  when  Lafayette  would  ride  out. 
Dr.  Bollmann  and  Mr.  Huger  sent  their  carriage  to  HofF, 
about  twenty-five  miles  on  the  road  they  meant  to, take  ;  and 
proceeded  on  horseback  to  the  attempt.  A  carriage,  whicli. 
they  supposed  to  contain  the  prisoner,  passed  out  of  the  gate, 
of  the  fortress  ;  they  rode  by  it  leisurely,  and  exchanged  sig- 
nals. At  two  or  three  miles,  the  carriage  left  the  high  road, 
and,  passing  into  a  less  frequented  track,  in  the  midst  of  an 
open  country,  Lafayette  descended  to  walk,  guarded  only  by 
the  officer  who  had  accompanied  him.  They  rode  up  at 
once  ;  and,  after  an  inconsiderable  struggle,  from  which  the 
guard  fled  to  alarm  the  citadel,  the  rescue  was  effected. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  one  of  the  horses  had  escaped,, 
and  Lafayette  was  obliged  to  take  his  departure  alone  ;  be- 
ing told  by  Mr.  Huger,  in  English,  "  to  go  to  HoftV  This 
he  mistook  for  a  more  general  direction,  to  go  off ;  and,  tak- 
ing a  wrong  road,  he  pursued  it  till  his  horse  could  go  no 
further  ;  when  he  was  stopped  at  the  village  of  Jagersdorff, 
and  detained,  as  a  suspicious  person,  till  he  was  recognised 
bv  an  officer  from  Olmutz,  two  days  afterwards. 

His  friends,  equal!}"  unfortunate,  were  also  taken,  and  se- 
parately confined,  without  knowledge  of  each  other's  fate. 
Hr.  Huger  was  chained  lo  the  floor  in  an  arched  dungeon, 
six  feet  by  eight,  without  light,  apd  with  only  bread  and  wa- 
ter for  food.  Once  in  six  hours  the  guard  entered,  and,  with 
a  lamp,  examined  each  brick  in  his  cell,  and  each  link  in  his 
chain.  To  his  most  earnest  request,  to  he  permitted  to  send 
to  his  mother,  in  America,  merely  the  words  ''  I  am  alive," 
signed  with  his  name,  he  received  a  rnde  refusal.  After 
eight  months  delay,  the  two  friends  were  brought  to  trial  ; 
but  through  the  interference  of  Count  Met  row  sky,  were  sen- 
tenced only  to  a  fortnight's  imprisonment,  after  which  they 
were  discharged.    A  few  hours  after  they  had  left  Olmutz,  aa 

4* 


42  CfENERAL  HAVATETTiS. 

order  came  for  a  new  trial  ;  but  the  prisoners  were  already 
beyond  ihe  reach  of  pursuit. 

In  the  year  1796,  the  motion  of  General  Fitzpatrick  for  an 
inquiry  into  Lafayette's  case,  produced  a  debate  in  the  Eng- 
lish house  of  commons,  in  which  the  conduct  of  the  Austrian 
government  was  exposed  publicly,  before  the  face  of  all 
Europe  ;  but  the  Pitt  majorities  then  prevailed  ;  and  the  mo- 
tion was  lost,  without  probably  exciting  much  sympathy  in  the 
English  people. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  American  nation  was  not  idle  ;  and 
the  immortal  Wasbington  had  not  remained  an  unconcerned 
spectator  of  the  sufferings  of  his  friend.  His  letter  to  the 
Emperor  of  Austria,  requesting  the  release  of  the  liberator 
of  America,  remains  a  monument  of  honour  to  the  writer, 
and  of  disgrace  to  the  despot  who  could  receive  it  un- 
moved. 

On'the  25th  of  August,  1797,  at  the  instance  of  Buonaparte, 
Lcfayeite  was  at  length  liberated,  with  his  family;  J\Iadame 
Lafayette  and  his  daughters  having  sh-ired  his  confinement 
twenty-two  months,  and  himself  having  been  a  prisoner  five 
years.  From  the  efiects  of  tltis  detention,  Madame  Lafa- 
yette never  entirely  recovered  ;  though  she  survived  ten 
years  after  her  return  to  liberty.  France  was  at  tiiis  time 
too  unsettled  for  Lafayette  to  enter  it  with  safety  ;  the  di- 
reclory  not  even  having  removed  \he  sentence  under  which 
the  Jacobins  had  placed  hi'm.  It  was  nc  therefore  till  after 
the  iSth  Brumaire,  that  his  exile  ceased  ;  when  he  retired 
te  La  Grano;e,  (a  moderate  estate  about  forty  miles  from  Pa- 
ris,) wijere  he  has  since  continued  to  reside. 

Between  Napoleon  and  Lafayette,  political  friendsiiip  or 
concurrence  cou'd  not  subsist  ;  Lafayette  voted  against  the 
consuhUeff  i"  life,  and  sent  a  letter  to  Buonaparte  himself  on  the 
subject ;  and  froir.  that  moment  all  intercourse  between  them 
ceased.  Napoleon  even  refused  to  promote  his  son,  George 
\?ashingtoa  Lafnveite,*  ar  his  son-in-law,  M.  Lasteyrie, 
though  they  repeaicdl}  distinguished  themselves  in  the  ar- 
my. On  one  occasion,  he  himself  erased  their  names  from 
a  bulletin,  with  the  impatient  exclamation  of  "  These  La- 
layettes  cross  my  path  every  where." 

The  restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  in  1814,  made  no  change 
in  Lafayette's  position.     He  presented  himself  once  at  court, 

*  Th*^  inheritor  of  his  father's  courage  in  the  field,  as  of  his  uncono— 
promising  consistency  and  patient  perseverance  in  the  senate. 


GENERAL  LAFAYETTE.  43 

and  was  kindly  received  ;  but  the  government  men  establish, 
ed,  did  not  meet  his  wishes,  and  he  did  not  a^ain  return  to 
the  palace  of  the  Tuileries. 

On  the  apparition  of  Napoleon  in  1815,  Lafayette  entered 
his  protest  against  the  acte  additionnel  ;  and  was  elected  a 
representative  by  the  very  college  of  electors  who  had  re- 
ceived his  protest.  Napoleon,  at  this  time  desirous  of  ob- 
taining his  influence,  offered  him  the  first  peerage  in  the 
new  chamber  he  was  then  forming  ;  an  offer  which  Lafayette 
declined.  As  a  representative  of  the  people,  he  saw  Napo- 
leon for  the  first  time,  at  the  opening  of  the  chambers  on  the 
7th  of  June.  "  It  is  above  twelve  years  since  we  have  met, 
General,"  said  Napoleon,  with  great  kindness  of  manner  ; 
but  Lafayette  received  the  Emperor's  advances  with  marked 
distrust  ;  and  all  his  efibrts  were  directed  to  "  make  the 
chamber  a  representation  of  tlie  French  people,  and  not  a 
Napoleon  club." 

After  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  Napoleon  had  determined  to 
dissolve  the  representative  body,  and  to  resume  the  dictator- 
ship of  the  country.  Regnault  de  St.  Jean  d'Angely,  who  was 
of  his  council,  but  opposed  to  this  violent  measure,  inform- 
ed Lafayette  that  in  two  hours  the  legislative  body  would 
cease  to  exist.  As  soon  therefore  as  the  session  was  opened, 
with  the  same  courage  and  the  same  self-devotion  with  which 
he  had  stood  at  the  bar  of  the  national  assembly  in  1792, 
Lafayette  ascended  the  tribune,  for  the  first  time  for  twenty 
years  ;  and  pronounced  those  few  but  emphatic  words, 
which  would  have  been  his  death  warrant,  if  they  had  not 
been  supported  by  the  asseml)ly  he  addressed.  Their  re- 
sult was  that  the  chamber  declared  their  sessions  perma- 
nent, and  all  attempts  to  dissolve  it  high  treason. 

On  the  abdication  of  Napoleon,  which  closely  followed,  a 
project  was  arranged  to  place  Lafayette  at  the  head  of  af- 
fairs, as  carrying  wilh  him  the  confidence  of  the  nation,  and 
especially  of  the  national  guard,  whom  he  would  immedi- 
ately have  called  out  en  masse  ;  but  a  scene  of  unworthy  in- 
trigues was  begun,  and  a  provisional  government  was  esta- 
blished, whose  principal  measure  was  the  sondmg  him  with  a 
deputation  to  the  allied  powers,  to  endeavour  to  stop  the  in- 
vasion of  France,  an  embassy  which  of  course  failed,  as  was 
intended.  Paris  was  entered  by  the  allied  troops,  and  the 
representative  government  was  dissolved.  Several  of  the 
members,  however,  met  at  Lafayette's   house,  entered  their 


44  GENERAL  LAFATETTEr 

formal  protest  ;  and  then  went  quietly  to  their  own  homes.* 
The  example  this  great  and  good  man's  career  affords  oC 
incorruptible  honesty,  and  of  the  weight  it  possesses  in  all 
communities,  cannot  too  often  be  held  up  to  public  imitation  ; 
and,  it  seems  to  me,  even  in  the  present  day,  no  superfluous  task 
to  exhibit  to  the  people  of  England  the  extent  to  which  a  sys- 
tem of  wilful  I'alsehood  and  misrepresentation  has  been  carried 
by  a  party  amongst  themselves,  whose  influence  and  opinions 
are  still  but  too  operative  in  the  management  of  their  affairs. 
For  England  there  remains  but  one  chance  of  regeneration, 
and  that  lies  in  the  total  destruction  of  this  party,  through  a 
recovery  of  that  system  of  self-government,  (by  a  real  and 
effectual  representation  of  the  people,)  which  has  been  the 
one  leading  object  of  Lafayette's  long  labours  and  unparal- 
leled sufferings.  The  history  of  Lafayette,  like  himself,  be- 
lon'TS  not  exclusively  to  France,  but  is  the  common  property 
of  all  civilized  nations  ;  and  there  exists  not  an  individual  to 
whom  liberty  is  dear,  who  has  not  an  interest  in  his  fair  fame. 
Since  the  moment  when  my  impressions  of  this  truly  illus- 
trious iTuin  called  forth  the  observations  of  the  Quarterly  Re- 
view rt'hich  paint  him  as  sunk  in  feeble  dotage,  Lafayette  has 
thrice  been  elected  to  the  chamber  of  deputies,  by  the  un- 
purchased voice  ot'  public  opinion.  His  mind,  brightening 
like  a  fine  coin  by  the  friction  of  use,  has  come  out  on  every 
occasion  on  whioh  the  liberty  of  the  people  has  called  for 
his  exertions,  with  a  strength  beyond  that  even  of  his  first 
youthful  vigour.  He  has  resisted  the  various  ai.empts  made 
upon  the  freedom  of  the  press  and  on  the  purity  of  election,-}- 


*  For  a  more  ample  account  of  (be  life  of  General  Lafayette,  (lie 
reader  is  referred  to  the  North  American  Review,  a  publication  remark- 
able forilstalen'  and  pr^itical  soundness. 

t  "  The  iiehi  which  has  been  shed  on  manlcind  by  tlie  art  of  print- 
inff  has  eminently  changed  Hie  condition  of  the  world.  As  yet  that 
ji^ht  has  davvnf^d  on  the  middle  classes  only  of  the  men  in  Europe. 
The  kings  and  the  rabble,  (of  equal  ignomnce.)  have  not  yet  received 
its  rays  ;  but  it  continues  to  spread  ;  and,  while  printing  is  preserved, 
it  can  no  more  recede  than  the  sun  return  on  liis  course.  A.  first  at- 
tempt to  recover  the  right  of  self-government  may  fail  ;  so  may  a  se- 
cond ;  a  third,  &c.  &c.  ;  but  as  a  younger  and  more  instructed  race 
comes  on,  the  sentiment  becomes  more  and  more  instinctive ;  and 
a  fourth,  a  fifth,  or  some  subsequent  one  of  the  ever-renewed  attempts, 
will  ultimately  succeed.  In  France,  the  fi  st  eflfort  was  defeated  by 
Bobespierre,  the  second  by  Bonaparte,  the  third  by  Louis  XVIJI.  and 
his  holy  allies.  Another  is  yet  to  come,  and  all  Europe  (Russia  except- 
ed) has  caught  the  spirit;  and  all  will  attain  representative  govern, 
ment,  more  or  less  perfect." — Jefferson's  Correspond,  vol.  iv.  p.  387^ 


GKNEBAL  LAFAYETTE.  45 

with  the  same  firmness  that  has  distinguished  all  his  votes, 
and  with  the  same  tenacity  to  original  principles  with  which 
he  started  for  the  goal  of  immortality.  His  attendance  on 
the  duties  of  the  chamber  of  deputies,  strange  as  that  fact 
may  appear  to  very  many  o*"the  honourable  members  of  an- 
other legislative  assembly  in  another  country,  is  as  constant 
and  unwearied,  as  if  age  could  not  enfeeble  his  body,  nor 
disgust  nor  languor  assail  his  mind.  Without  the  walls  of 
the  chamber,  his  influence  is  even  more  decided  than  within. 
He  is  indeed  the  centre  upon  which  the  whole  liberal  opposi- 
tion  moves — the  guide  to  whom  the  youth  and  the  aged  alike 
turn  with  confidence  and  affection.  His  ascendancy  is  not 
obtained  by  flattering  the  multitude — it  is  not  purchased  by 
violence  and  exaggeration.  It  is  not  even  the  result  of  those 
all-commanding  talents,  which  are  occasionally  found  uncon- 
nected with  honesty  or  judgment.  He  has  not  the  eloquence 
of  a  Mirabeau,  the  brilliancy  of  a  Canning,  the  financial  ca- 
pacities of  a  Neckar,  nor  the  political  philosophy  of  a  Ro- 
milly  or  a  Bentham.  His  persuasive  power  is  the  force  of 
good  sense  and  of  self-conviction — the  clearness  of  his  views 
— and  the  earnestness  with  which  he  exposes  them.  In  one 
word,  it  is  the  force  of  honesty,  of  public  virtue,  and  of  pri- 
vate worth ;  and  if  in  the  violence  and  storm  of  human  pas- 
sions,  amidst  the  tornado  of  a  revolution,  this  force  has  been 
too  frequently  borne  down  by  qualities  more  imposing,  and 
by  volitions  more  violent,  yet,  in  the  long  run  of  political  life 
(to  the  credit  of  human  nature  be  it  observed),  there  is  no 
more  powerful  engine  for  moving  the  public,  for  accomplish- 
ing useful  ends,  and  for  beneficially  influencing  the  destinies 
of  nations,  than  tried  probity  and  proud  consistency,  in  which 
the  confidence  of  a  people  have  long  reposed. 

In  ]825,  (eight  years  after  the  appearance  of  the  Quar- 
terly Review  with  its  ^^ feeble  dotage")  General  Lafivyette 
received  and  accepted  an  invitation  to  revisit  the  n^  world. 
The  card  came  from  the  American  people,  and  its  object  be- 
came the  "guest  of  the  nation."  It  was  not,  alas!  by  the 
Washingtons  and  the  Franklins  that  he  was  thus  invited  to 
the  land  to  whose  greatness  and  happiness  he  had  so  power- 
fully  contributed,     in  the  interval,  but  little  short  of  half  a 

This  passage  jilaces  in  a  strong  licriit  ihe  value  of  political  perseve- 
rance, and  the  services  wiiicli  Lafayette  h;is  rendered  his  couniry  and 
liumanily,  as  the  conneoiing  link  iietween  tlie  several  epochs  of  libe- 
ralism, as  the  guardian  who  has  preserved  the  sacred  flame  of  liberty, 
nnd  transmitted  it  to  another  generation. 


46  GENERAL  LAFAYETTE. 

century,  another  and  another  generation  had  sprung  up  to 
benefit  by  his  hibours  :  but  the  sentiments  of  love  and  grati- 
tude to  Lafayel.te  were  a  national  inheritance,  treasured  and 
transmitted  by  every  American  of  every  age.  The  guest  of 
the  nation  was  received  by  the  sons  and  the  grandsons,  as 
the  liberator  had  been  by  the  fathers*  when  he  came  to 
share  their  perils  and  to  promote  their  triumphs.! 

History,  amidst  its  pompous  records  of  brilliant  victories, 
from  those  of  the  Caesars  to  the  unparalleled  conquests  of 
Napoleon,  has  no  such  line  in  its  pages  as  the  visit  of  La- 
fayette to  America  will  form ;  and  every  public  organ  of  li- 
berality in  the  two  hemispheres  has  borne  testimony  to  its 
marked  distinction.:}: 

*  Jefferson,  in  an  interesting  letter  to  liis  friend  Kosciusko,  in  which 
he  describes  his  own  life  and  position,  has  the  following  passage;  "A 
part  of  my  occupation,  and  by  no  means  the  least  pleasing,  is  the  direc- 
tion of  the  studies  of  such  young  men  as  ask  it.  They  place  themselves 
in  the  neighbouring  vilJage,  and  have  the  use  of  my  library  and  coun- 
sel, and  make  a  part  of  my  society.  In  advising  the  course  of  their 
reading,  I  endeavour  to  keep  their  attention  fixed  on  the  main  objects 
of  all  science — the  freedom  and  happiness  of  man  ;  so  that,  coming 
to  bear  a  sliare  in  the  councils  and  government  of  thoir  country,  they 
will  keep  ever  in  view  the  sole  objects  of  all  legitimate  government." 
(Vol.  iv.  p.  145.)  There  is  nothing  in  all  antiquity  more  beautiful 
than  this  pictu  e  of  the  retired  statesman  preparing  the  rising  genera- 
tion for  the  task  of  self-government. 

t  "  He  is  literally  the  guest  of  the  nation  ;  but  the  guest,  it  should  be 
remembered,  of  another  generation  than  tlie  one  he  originally  came  to 
serve.  We  rejoice  at  it.  We  rejoice,  in  common  with  the  thousands  who 
throng  his  steps  v\  he  rover  he  passes,  that  we  are  permitted  to  offer  this 
tribute  of  a  gratiiude  and  veneration  which  cannot  be  misinterpreted, 
to  one  who  suffered  with  our  fathers  for  our  sake!  but  we  rejoice  yet 
more  for  (he  moral  effect  it  cannot  fail  to  produce  on  us,  both  as  indivi- 
duals and  as  a  people.  Foi'  it  is  no  common  spectacle  which  is  now 
pir.  Jed  before  each  of  us  for  our  instruction.  We  are  permitted  to  see 
one.  who,  by  the  mere  force  of  [.rinciple,  by  plain  and  resolved  integri- 
ty, hds  passed  with  perfect  consistency  through  more  remarkable  ex- 
tremes <>(  fortune  than  any  man  now  alive,  or  perhaps  any  man  on  re- 
cord. We  are  permitted  to  .'•ee  one  who  has  borne  a  leading  and  con- 
trolling part  in  two  hemispheres,  and  in  the  two  most  important  revolu- 
tions the  world  has  yet  seen,  and  has  come  forth  from  both  of  them  with^ 
out  the  touch  of  dishonour.  We  are,  in  short,  permitted  to  see  a  man 
who  has  piofessed,  atnidst  glory  and  suffering,  in  triumph  and  in  dis- 
grace, the  same  principles  of  political  freedom  on  both  sides  of  the  At- 
lantic :,  who  has  maintained  the  same  tone,  the  same  air,  the  same  open 
cnnfidencp,  amidst  the  ruins  of  the  Bastile,  on  the  Champ  de  Mars,  un- 
der the  despotism  of  Bonapdrle,  and  in  the  dungeons  of  Olmutz." — North 
Ameiican  Review. 

t  An  account  of  this  interesting  visit  has  been  published  in  Paris,  in 
one  volume,  by  Monsieur  de  Vavasseur. 


GENERAL  LAFAYETTE.  47 

His  return  to  his  country  and  to  his  family  was  noted  by 
the  same  triumph  that  distinguished  his  visit  to  the  western 
hemisphere  ;  and  each  day  of  his  Ufe,  up  to  the  present 
hour,  has  added  to  his  reputation,  and  to  the  briUiancy  of 
his  social  position.  Upon  every  occasion  that  has  brought 
him  before  the  public,  in  sorrow  or  in  joy — at  the  funeral  of 
his  friend  Foy,  or  at  the  festivals  of  French  and  American 
independence,  so  often  celebrated  in  the  capital  of  European 
civilization — he  has  appeared  surrounded  by  his  body  guard, 
the  "  youth  of  France,"  and  in  the  halo  of  national  popula- 
rity. 

We  had  long  been  aware  of  this  :  previous  to  our  present 
visit  to  Paris,  we  had  been  assured  of  his  well-being  by  his 
delightful  letters,  and  by  those  brilliant  details  of  his  public 
life,  which  the  journals  furnished  even  in  ow  ultima  Thule  ; 
and  yet  when  we  arrived  in  1821),  the  interval  which  had 
elapsed  since  1820,  his  time  of  life,  and  the  reiterated  blows 
his  feelings  (we  knew)  had  sustained,  threw  a  shadow  of  me- 
lancholy over  our  expected  meeting,  which  we  had  other- 
wise contemplated  with  pleasure  and  impatience.  We  had 
left  him  at  La  Grange  years  back,  suffering  in  bodily  health 
from  the  consequences  of  a  wound  ;  and  since  that  time  he 
had  lost  such  friends  as  life  could  never  again  bestow — the 
friends  of  his  youth,  of  his  prime,  the  sharers  in  his  labours, 
and  the  partakers  of  his  triumphs.  Domestic  affliction,  too, 
had  laid  its  chill  and  terrible  hand  heavily  on  his  noble  heart. 
He  had  strewed  flowers  on  the  bridal  grave  of  one  who,  in 
the  order  of  nature,  should  have  placed  the  cypress  and  the 
laurel  on  his  own.  These  were  events  that  I  was  aware 
had  preyed  upon  a  constitution  which  the  dungeons  of  01- 
mutz  had  not  destroyed  ;  and  bowed  a  spirit  which  the  per- 
secution of  the  powerful,  and  the  calumnies  of  the  vile  had  not 
broken.  If,  in  the  struggles  between  time  and  feeling,  necessi- 
ty and  resignation  will  always  decide  the  triumph  of  the  for- 
mer, still  years  must  make  inroads  on  external  forms,  even 
while  they  efface  the  visible  traces  of  affliction.  Though  we 
did  not  expect  to  see  General  Lafayette  either  "feeble"  or"  do- 
ting," w'e  thought  with  regret  that  some  of  the  original  bright- 
ness with  which  we  had  formerly  seen  him  irradiated,  must 
have  been  partially  obscured.  He  had  called  on  us  immedi- 
ately  on  our  arrival,  but'we  were  from  home.  Our  first  visit 
at  his  house  was  equally  ill-timed.  On  returning  the  following 
day,  we  found  the  entrance  of  his  hotel  pre-occupied  by  a  car- 
riage  which   had  drawn  up  at  the  foot  of  the  great  stairs, 


48  ANGLOMANIA. 

opening  into  the  court.  We  alighted,  and  entered  on  foot* 
A  gentleman  who  was  standing  on  the  last  step,  while  his 
servant  threw  a  large  military  cloak  over  his  shoulders,  turn- 
ed round  to  enter  into  the  carriage.  A  mutual  exclamation 
and  recognition  followed.  It  was  Lafayette,  younger,  health- 
ier more  on  the  alert  than  ever.  His  heart-whole  cordiality, 
his  affectionate  welcome,  his  animated  manner  and  benignant 
smile  exhibited  the  same  consistency  in  feeling  and  in  friend- 
ship as  he  has  shewn  in  political  principle.  "  I  was  just 
going  to  see  you,"  he  said ;  and  ordering  his  carriage  away, 
instead  of  availing  himself  of  my  husband's  offered  arm  to 
ascend  the  stairs,  he  drew  that  of  the  dear  little  companion 
I  was  so  proud  to  present  to  him,  under  his  own  ;  and  with 
the  air  and  manner  of  the  "  young  and  gallant  Lafayette''  of 
Marie  Antoinette's  fastidious  court,  he  led  us  to  his  salon. 

After  a  long  and  delightful  conversation,  in  which  the 
calm  vigour  and  sober  enthusiasm  of  his  mind  came  forth  in 
details  the  most  interesting  and  instructive,  we  parted ;  but 
only  with  the  mutual  promise  of  meeting  at  night  at  the 
house  of  his  celebrated  relation,  the  Count  do  Tracy. 


ANGLOMANIA. 

Expecting  a  very  early  nursery  visit  from  a  new  little 
relation,  who  has  conferred  on  me  a  brevet  rank  by  no  means 
flattering  even  to  a  lady,  "  qui  a  tt^  jeune  si  long  temps"  (as 
the  Journal  des  D^hats  once  pleasantly  said  of  me,  before  we 
came  into  the  same  category  of  official  proscription,)  I  was 
led  into  the  vulgar  nursery  ambition  of  paying  my  court  to 
my  infant  visitor,  through  her  gastronomic  propensities,  by 
the  toady-ism  of  comfits  and  sugar-plums  ;  so  I  walked  out 
in  search  of  a  confectioner.  My  intention  was  to  proceed 
to  my  old  mart  for  hon  bans,  the  "  Fidele  Berger,"  in  the  Rue 
Vivienne.  But  as  topography  is  not  my  fort,  I  stopped  short 
at  the  first  shop  that  ft'll  in  my  way.  •  With  my  head  full  of 
the  poetical  pastry  of  De  Bar,  soi.ie  of  whose  bright  con- 
ceptions I  once  gave  to  a  country  lady  in  Ireland,  who  orna- 
mented her  dress  with  them  for  an  assize  ball, — I  asked  bold- 
ly for  some  Diahlolins  en  papiUote,  Pastilles  de  Nantes,  and 
other  su;fared  prettinesses ;  but  a  demoiselle  behind  the 
counter,   as  neat  as  English  muslin  and   French  tournure 


ANGLOMANIA.  49 

could  make  her,  replied,  conceitedly,  in  broken  English, 
*'  we  sell  no  such  a  ting."  A  little  surprised,  I  asked  what 
she  would  recommend  that  would  melt  in  the  mouth,  and  not 
soil  the  fingers — something  fit  for  a  marmotle ;  "  Dere  is 
every  ting  that  you  may  have  want,"  she  replied,  pointing  to 
shelves  piled  with  biscuits, — "  de  cracker,  do  bun,  de  plom- 
cake,  de  spice  gingerbread,  de  mutton  and  de  niince-pye,  de 
crompet  and  de  muffin,  de  gelee  of  de  calves  foot,  and  de 
apple-dumplin,  as  bespoke." 

f  was  struck  dumb  !   One  of  the  things  worth  a  visit  to  Pa- 
ris, if  you  had  no  other  motive  fur  tiio  journey,  is  its  exqui- 
site confectionery  ;  so  light,  and  so  perfumed,  that  it  resem- 
bles congealed  odours,  or  a  crystallization  of  the  essence  of 
sweet  flowers.      Plum-cake  and  apple-dumplings  ! — sugar  of 
lead  and  leaden  bullets !     I  thouglil  of  the  "  Fidele  Berger,'* 
its  fanciful   idealities,  its  "  tritles   light  as  air,"  and  "  infinite 
deal  of  (sweet)  nothings  ;"  its  candied  epics  and  eclogues  in' 
spun  sugar.     Then,  too,  its  ^arco/i,s,  like  "feathered  Mercu- 
ries new  lighted  on"  a  sponge  cake  or  a  carmel,  giving  to  the 
magazin  the  air  of  a  store-room  of  the  Muses.      What  a  con- 
trast !     A  chubby  young   man   and  a  phlegmatic  old  woman, 
were   busily   at    work.      Batter   was    beating    with   wooden 
spoons;  force  meat  was   chopping   with  liirmingbam  hatch- 
ets.    Currants  were  drying,  and  suet  v/as  melting  in  the  sun  ; 
beaf-steak  gravy  steamed  from  the  hot  hearth,  the  oven  was 
redolent  of  apple-pye  :  in  a  word,  the  pandemonium  of  an 
English  country  kitchen   on  a  Christmas  eve,  was   exhibited 
on  an  April  morning,  within  view  of  tb.e  violet  beds  and  hya-. 
cinth   banks  of  the  elysium  of  the  'J\ulerics.     I  rubbed  my 
eyes,  and  scarcely  believed  their  evidence.      [  looked  up, 
and  perceived  a  large  black  board,  itjtimating,  in  gilt  letters, 
that  "  Here  is  to  be  had  all  sorts  of  English  pastry,"  by  Tom 
or  .Tack  somebody,  "  pastry- cook,  from  London."     Placards, 
too,  were  in  every  pane  of  the  windows,  with  "  Hot  mutton 
pies,"  "  Oyster  patties,"  "  Devonshire  .-.ider,"  "  Spruce  beer," 
and  "  London   porter."     Odd's  nausea   and  indigestion  !     I 
thought  I  should  never  get  out  of  the  atmosphere  of  Cornhill 
or  St.  Paul's  churchyard.     So,  paying  for  a  bundle  of  crack- 
ers, hard   enough  to  crack  the  teeth  of  an  elephant,  I   con. 
signed  them  to  my  servant,  and  was  hurrying  away  from  the 
shop,  when  I  was  shot  on  the  left  cheek,  and  covered  with  a 
shower   of  froth,   by   the   explosion  of  a  bottle  of  "  Whit, 
bread's  entire,"  the  pride  of  the  counter,  and  the  boast  of  its 
oAvner, 

Vol.  L— 5 


SsO  ANGLOMANIA, 

Annoyed  beyond  measure,  I  was  hastening  home,  to  ckianse 
myself  of  the  stain  and  the  odour  of  this  essence  of  aloes, 
liquorice,  and  cocculus  indicus,  when  passing  along  the 
arcade,  a  perfumer's  shop  caught  the  most  acute  of  all  my 
senses.  I  never  in  my  life  was  more  in  want  of  something 
to  "  sweeten  my  imagination"  withall,  so  I  turned  in.  One 
has  always  a  long  list  of  wants  on  a  first  arrival  at  Paris, 
that  renders  any  and  every  shop  a  station,  where  a  franc  may 
be  dropped,  or  a  j)etit  ecu  offered  with  advantage.  I  there- 
fore prepared  to  "  air  my  vocabulary"  in  my  best  Paris  ac- 
cent,  wiih  all  the  classic  names  of  eaux,  essences,  and  ex- 
traits :  but  before  I  could  make  known  a  single  want,  the 
master  of  the  shop  pushed  foward  divers  pint  bottles  of  evi- 
dent English  manufacture  ;  interrupting  me  with  "  Oui,  out, 
madame,  fentends  !  voild  tout  ce  qu'il  vous  faut,  de  lavender- 
vatre  de  Monsieur  Galiie,  de  honey-vatre  premiere  qualife,  de 
essence  of  hurgatnot,  de  tief  his  vinaigre,  and  de  Vindsor  soap  ,•'' 
and  addressing  a  young  v/oman,  who  was  tossing  over  a  box 
of  English  fans  and  silk  handkerchiefs,  with  O'Connell's 
handsome  Irish  face  glowing  in  the  centre, — "  Ecoutez,  cherc 
nmie,"  he  said,  "  shew  madame  the  Regent's  vash-haU,  de 
Hunt's  blacking,  de  fish  sauce,  and  the  pill  aMi  bilieux.^' 

I  heard  no  more,  but  gathering  up  my  purse  and  reticule, 
quitted  the  shop  in  a  fever  of  disappointment,  which  all  the 
patent  pills  it  contained  could  not  cure.  On  reaching  home, 
I  found  a  little  basket  lying  on  the  table  of  the  anti-room,  la- 
belled with  a  card  ;  and  an   English   livery-servant  waiting 

for  a  receipt;     The  card  ran  thus  :  "  Mr. 's  best 

compliments  to  Sir  C.  M.,  with  a  flask  of genuine  pot- 

feenJ"  ■  This  was  too  much!  Was  it  for  this  we  left  the 
snugness  and  ceconomical  comfort  of  our  Irish  home,  and 
encountered  the  expensive  inconveniences  of  a  foreign  jour- 
ney, in  the  hope  of  seeing  nothing  British,  "  till  the  threshold 
of  that  home  should  be  passed  by  our  feet  :" — to  meet  at 
every  stop  with  all  that  taste,  health,  and  civilization  we  cry 
t^own  at  home,  as  cheap  and  as  abundant  abroad ; — from  the 
aw  tough  fibre  of  a  hard  rosbif  de  mutton,  to  genuine  pot- 
leen,  or,  "  by  your  leave,  Georgy,'^  with  all  its  original  bor- 
yachio  of  still  and  bog  ? 

While  I  was  in  the  first  bitterness  of  my  vexation,  there 

dropped  in  young  L ,  one  of  those  juvenile  citizens  of  the 

world,  pecuhar  to  the  present  day,  to  whom  Rome,  Dublin, 
and  Petersburg  are  as  familiar  as  their  native  Paris.  "  Why, 
you  look  like  Patience  on   a  monument/'  he  said,  in  good 


ANGLOMANIA .  51 

English  and  trite  quotution,  tliat  gave  the  finishing  touch  to 
my  ill-humour,  "  V/hat  is  the  matter,  7na  bonne  miladi?^^ 

I  described  to  him  the  disappointments  of  the  morning, 
beginning  with  the  mutton  pies,  and  ending  with  his  own 
English  accent,  and  cockney  quotation.  He  lauglied,  and 
observed,  "oh  !  I  sec  you  have  fallen  in  with  a  condsevr  ro- 
mantique.'^ 

"  A  what  ?"  I  asked,  opening  my  eyes. 

"  Why,  a  pastry-cook  of  (he  romantic  school." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?" 

"  Now  that  is  really  too  pleasant.  You  pretend  not  t^ 
know  that,  who  are  yourself  one  of  the  standard-bearers  of 
the  romantic  school.'' 

'^  Sans  m^en  douier,  then,"  I  replied  ;  "  for  though  I  know 
what  the  romanticif^m  of  the  Italian  literati  meant,  ten  years 
ago,  when  I  loft  them  all  fighting  for  and  against  the  unities, 
as  fiercely  as  the  "  ancients"  and  "  moderns"  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  I  thought  their  tactics  too  puerile  for  this 
side  the  Alps.  But  a  romantic  pastry-cook  quite  passes  my 
comprehension." 

"  Then,  you  must  know  that  every  thing  English,  except 
their  politics,  is  now,  in  Paris,  popular,  and  is  deemed  ro- 
mantic ;  and  we  have  romantic  tailors,  milliners,  pastry- 
cooks, and  even  doctors  and  apothecaries." 

He  then  entered  into  some  very  graphic  details  and  illus- 
trations ;  and  we  laughed  out  this  amusing  absurdity  till  I 
quite  recovered  my  spirits,  and  rejoiced  in  the  accidents  of 
my  ramble,  which  had  produced  so  much  pleasant  informa- 
tion. 

These  disappointments  of  the  morning,  this  eternal  ren- 
contre with  things  merely  English,  which  snaps  the  thread 
of  association  at  every  turn  of  a  walk  tin-ough  the  streets  of 
Paris,  is  not,  however,  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  result  of  a 
general  conspiracy  of  Frenchmen  against  nationality  and  the 
rules  of  Aristotle.  I  am  very  much  inclined,  at  least,  to  sus- 
pect, that  some  portion  of  it  belongs  to  a  well-imagined  specu- 
lation, on  catering  for  the  home-bred  propensities  and  long- 
ing, lingering  regrets  of  the  great  European  cavalicre  pagante, 
John  Bull.  The  majority  of  Englishmen  do  not  so  much 
travel  to  acquire  continental  ideas,  as  to  fortify  and  fix  their 
own.  They  do  not  voyage  for  the  sake  of  comparing  British 
institutions,  sentiments,  and  usages,  with  those  of  other  coun- 
tries ;  but  for  measurincp  all  things  foreign  by  the  one  infal- 
hble  standard  of  all  right  and  reason,  "  the  custom   of  En- 


53  aivgloma:^ia. 

gland."  But  the  closer  tilings  can  be  brought  into  juxfa  po- 
sition, the  easier  is  it  to  form  a  judgment  between  them.  It 
is  therefore  meitter  of  unspeakable  delight  to  the  connoisseur 
to  be  thus  enabled  (o  bring  home  to  the  senses  of  the  Pari- 
sians, the  superiority  of  brown  stout  over  champagne,  and  of 
muffins  and  twelfth  cake  over  briocJies  and  gdleaus  de  Nantes  ; 
not  to  speak  of  the  tender  yearnings  such  home-bred  objects 
must  excite  in  the  "  weary  way-wanderers"  in  a  distant  land. 
If  Englishmen  generally  travel  for  tlie  sole  purpose  of  con- 
gregating in  foreign  eilies,  and  meeting  the  same  faces  which 
they  habitually  encounter  in  Rotten-row  and  ihe  round  room 
at  the  Opera,  it  is  probable  that,  to  eat  salt-beef  in  Naples, 
and  hot  apple-pye  in  the  Palais-royal,  must  afford  them  es- 
pecial deliglit.  There  are  no  such  penetrating  philosophers 
as  tradesmen,  nor  any  key  to  the  mysteries  of  the  human 
heart  like  pecuniary  interest  ;  and  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  the  frequent  shop-board  inscription,  "  From  London," 
that  meets  the  eye  at  every  turn  in  the  Rue  Vivienne  and  the 
Rue  St.  Honore,  is  not  altogether  addressed  to  the  French 
love  of  free  trade  with  England,  and  a  romantic  "  coveting 
of  neighbour's  goods." 

Still,  however,  there  does  exist  among  the  French  a  strong 
disposition  to  try  all  things,  and  especially  all  things  English. 
English  fashions  and  uses  are  the  vogue  among  tiie  merveil- 
leux  et  peiites  mattresses  ;  English  literature,  with  a  large 
class  of  French  writers;  English  aristocracy,  with  a  certain 
portion  of  the  faubourg  ;  and  Engiisli  Mantons  by  every 
chasseur,  from  the  bear-hunter  in  thePyrennecs  to  the  slayer 
of  cock-sparrows  in  the  banlicue  of  Paris.  Tiiis  is  as  it 
should  be  ;  for  though  some  exaggerations  and  absurdities 
are  incidental  to  all  vogues,  inasmuch  as  it  is  the  many  who 
make  the  fasliion,  and  that  fools  are  apt  to  predominate  in 
all  conmiunities,  still  a  free  inlcrcourse  betv/een  nations,  and 
a  mutual  importation  of  virtues  and  of  knowledge,  must 
eventually  be  productive  of  universal  good.  Tiiere  may  be 
some  awkwardness  at  first,  to  excite  ridicule,  (for  affect-ition 
is  always  ridiculous,)  but  in  these  national  interchanges, 
both  parties  will  probably  end  by  adopting  what  is  really  the 
most  accommodating,  serviceable,  and  best  ;  while  (hey  will 
be  mutually  more  pleased  with  each  other,  and  less  disposed 
to  be  haUooed,  (without  motives,)  into  murderous  and  des- 
tructive wars,  the  disgrace  of  Christianity,  and  the  scourge 
of  the  human  race. 


t  53] 


ROYALISM  IX  1829. 

"  Jarnicoton  !"  as  Louis  the  Fourteenth  used  to  exclaim, 
in  the  language  of  his  nursery  education,  (where,  says  Vol- 
taire, "  he  learned  nothing  bat  dancing  and  the  guitar,") 
jarnicoton !  how  ten  years  have  changed  every  thing  in 
France!  I  ought  now  to  liave  done  wondering  ;  and  yet  [ 
have  not.  My  old  impressions  are  for  ever  leading  me  into 
new  blunders — into  mistaking  old  names  for  old  principles, 
and  judging  "  every  man  by  the  scrip"  of  the  old  nomen- 
clature. The  other  day  I  dined  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin,  in 
that  house  where  it  is  always  such  a  privilege  to  dins  :  where 
the  wit  of  the  host,*  liiie  the  menus  of  his  table,  combines  all 
tliat  is  best  in  French  or  Irish  peculiarity  ;  and  where  the  socie- 
ty  ischasen  with  rcterence  to  no  other  qualities  than  merit  and 
agreeability.  It  was  niy  luck  to  be  placed  at  dinner  next  a 
most  agreeable  person,  who,  in  ceasing  to  be  young,  had  not 
ceased  to  be  very  attractive.  I  had  missed  his  name  in  the 
muttered  introduction  which  had  given  him  mine  ;  but  it 
struck  mc  by  his  style  and  manner,  his  time  of  life,  and  a 
certain  air  pot  to  be  mistaken,  that  he  was  of  tliO  viciUe  no- 
bl-esse.  As  he  did  not,  however,  attack  me  after  the  fashion 
of  1820,  when  such  persons  shewed  me  no  quavtor,  I  soon 
changed  my  opinion.  I  spoke,  therefore,  with  loss  reserve, 
the  conversation  became  animated,  and  I  rose  tVom  table  de- 
lighted v.ith  an  acquaintance,  who,  without  afllcting  the  hel 
esprit,  was  eminently  literary  and  intellectaai.  In  tlie  de- 
sultory topics  we  touched  upon,  many  occasions  must  have 
arisen  for  the  indulgence  of  angry  prejudices,  and  for  those 
explosions  of  feoIii)g,  not  to  say  rage,  which  were  occasion- 
ally  so  disagreeable  i;i  mixed  societies  of  Paris  in  SGIG.  But 
nothing  of  this  sort  occurred  ;  no  diatribes,  no  exaggerated 
claims  to  pure  princii.'les,  no  sarcasms  on  things  or  |;ersons, 
nothing,  in  short,  hut  what  might  best  become  a  tliorough-bred 
man  of  the  world,  of  our  own  English  political  atjiiosphere, 
at  the  present  moment  so  unexcited  and  so  tranquil. 

I  met  this  gentleman  agaiii  at  an  assembly  at  Lady  V.  M.'s, . 
and  begged  her  to  give  nve  hi.s  name  "  bieji  sonn^.'' 

*  Patrick  Lattin,  Esq.  of  i\Iorrice-towD,  in  tbe  county  of  Kildare,  and 
•of  4he  Cli-aussec  d\lnlin,  in  Paris. 


64  ROYALISM  IN  1829. 

"  Whr>t,  not  know  the  Count  de  Sabran,  the  successor  of 
La  Fontaine,  the  son  of  the  brilliant  Countess  de  Boufflers, 
and  son-in-law  to  the  chevalie?',  par  excellence  ?"* 

What  names  !  vvhat  associations  !■  How  was  it  possible, 
with  such  a  descent,  and  such  alliances,  that  the  Count  de 
Sabran  should  not  be  "  more  royal  than  the  king,  and  more 
pious  than  the  pope  !"  Still  as  we  conversed,  I  thought 
more  than  once  of  the  ancient  device  and  motto  of  his  house, 
"  7ioUte  irrilare  leonem,^'  and  took  the  hint. 

This  evening,  at  a  concert  at  Mad.  de  W 's,  the  Count 

de  H — f — t  was  introduced  to  me  by  our  accomplished  host- 
ess. We  soon  became  intimate,  as  persons  usually  do  who 
hit  upon  some  points  of  mutual  agreement.  As  he  was  high 
in  office,  I  was  a  little  surprised  ;  but  I  let  things  take  their 
course,  and  we  talked  of  all  sorts  of  n^atters,  in  all  sorts  of 
ways  ;  on  his  ow^n  book  on  Spain,  and  his  popular  ministry 
there.  When  this  gentleman  moved  oft",  and  was  succeeded  by 
another  baron  fiodal,  whose  royalism,  dated  at  least  from,  the 
Valois,  I  frankly  expressed  my  surprise  at  the  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  manners  and  tone  of  society  ;  and  I 
related  to  him  a  rencontre  I  had  had  at  a  masqued  ball  in  1819, 
where  two  ultras,  (the  sons  of  the  most  devoted  danglers  in 
the  ante-chamber  of  Napoleon,)  aid>)d  by  an  ex-prot/'g^  of 
the  Bonaparte  family,  had  attacked  me  with  more  Dourbon- 
ite  zeal  than  gallantry  ;  and  had  availed  themselves  to  the 
utmost  of  the  privilege  of  the  mask.  — "  That,''  said  the  par- 
ty addressed,  "  that  was  the  eagerness  of  girotieUism,  so  anx- 
ious in  1819  to  dislinguish  its  questionable  loyalty,  no  matter 
how.  It  is  now  loned  down  by  a  prevailing  liberality,  and 
by  the  natural  subsidence  of  all  exaggerations." 

"  Such  strange  things  take  place  every  day,"  I  replied, 
''  that  I  should  not  be  surprised  to  find,  on  my  return  home, 
that  Monsieur  de  Marlignac  had  written  himself  down  at  my 
door  ;  or  tliat  the  minister  of  marine,  my  neighbour,  (who  is 
otie  of  the  best  speakers  I  think  in  the  chambers,)  should  in- 
vite me  to  his  Tuesday  assemblies  ;  na^',  that  the  king  him- 
self should  smile  on  me  as  he  passes  my  window,  and  that 
I  should  exclaim  with  Madame  do  Sevigne,  afier  a  similar  fa- 
vour— "  Le  roi  est  le  plus  grand  roi  du  monde.^^ 

"  And  why  not,  madame  ?"  replied  my  liberal  royalist; 
"  to  be  a  faithful  partisan  of  the  august  house  of  Bourbon,  is 

*  The  friend  also  of  Madame  de  Sla?^I,  who  frequently  quoted  with 
approbalion  his  line  on  the  pine  tree  : 

"  Le  Pin  deuil  de  I'^t^,  ornement  de  I  hyver." 


THE  "  CO>'GRF,GATI0?r."  55 

it  necessary  to  be  childislily  intolerant  ?  I  am  a  Bourbonist  by- 
inheritance  and  by  devotion  ;  but  !  am  also  a  Frenclinian, 
and  of  that  French  party  more  especially,  which  (loving  the 
king,  but  detesting  Jesuitism)  is  royalist  according  to  tho 
charte,  and  not  according  to  the  Coni^i-egation." 

I  opened  my  eyes  !  and  was  opening  my  m.outh  to  ask 
something  relative  to  this  same  Congregalion,  when  the  first 
touch  of  Rossini's  inspired  linger  on  the  piano  silenced  every 
other  sound  ;  and  the  voices  of  two  of  the  prettiest  women* 
in  France,  "breathing  and  stealing"  inspiration  .  from  iii.'^ 
most  wondrous  accompaniment,  awakened  sensations  worth 
all  the  politics  that  were  ever  discussed. 


THE  "  CONGREGATION/'t 

JKsiiTisjr,  in  a  religious  sense,  and  as  it  is  applied  to  a 
monkish  order,  is  a  mere  name  in  France.  It  serves  to  amuse 
a  few  idle  old  women  of  either  sex,  and  to  occupy  a  few 
feeble  young  ones,  who  belong  to  the  confraternities  of  the 
holy  heart,  or  to  convents  which  are  under  the  influence  of  the 

*  The  Comtesses  de  Spar  and  Goussard,  who,  witii  the  Comtesse 
de  Merlin,  are,  perhaps,  the  finest  amateur  singers  in  Europe. 

t  Among  the  many  writers  who  have  attacked  the  Jesuits,  Le  Comto 
de  Montlosier  has  attracted  the  most  universal  attention,  l)y  the  spirit 
and  talent  with  which  his  "  Memoire  d  consuUcr"  has  exposed  their 
designs.  Foreseeing  the  loss  of  his  pension,  as  a  rerlairi  conserjuence 
of  this  publication,  he  was  desirous  of  preparing  his  son  for  the  change 
in  the  circumstances  of  his  family.  With  this  intention,  he  caused  a 
splendid  dinner  to  be  served  ;  but  at  the  moment  when  the  parties  sat 
down  to  table,  the  servants  carried  oft'  the  viands,  and  replaced  them 
by  an  omelette,  some  chee=p,  and  brown  bread.  This  moral,  in  action, 
was  explained  in  a  brief  address,  in  v,'hich  the  parent  spoke  of  the  com- 
parative indigence  \\  liich  must  result  from  the  s!ep  he  wasaljontto 
take  ;  and  added,  that  he  had  too  high  an  opinion  of  his  child,  to  fear 
that  he  could  repine  at  his  father's  having  acted  in  obedience  to  the  dic- 
tates of  his  conscience. 

Monsieur  INJontlosier  is  a  rigid  Catholic,  and  his  attack  on  the  Jesuits, 
the  Congregation,  and  ultramontanism,  was  wholly  in  the  interest  of 
religion  :  "  II  annons^ait  vouloir  defendre  la  religion  et  le  trone  contra 
un  plan  religieux  et  poliiique  tendant  a  les  renverser  ;  les  Jesuites  et 
tout  ce  que  leur  est  attache  par  intoret  et  par  ambition  virent  bien  que 
c'otait  a  eux  que  Monsieur  Montlosier  allait  s'attaijuer  :  on  en  tressail- 
lit  de  St.  Acheul  au  Vatican." — Notice  sur  Le  C'omle  Monllosier  devant 
son  ouvrage  "  Dcs  Mi/stires  de  la  Vu  Humaine." 


56  THE  "  C0>7GREGATinX." 

brotherliood  of  Igntitius.  But  Jesuitism,  as  that  most  ingenious 
and  fearful  system  has  ever  been  applied,  both  in  the  old  and 
recent  times,  to  politics,  is  still  making  a  stand,  with  a  tena- 
city and  perseverance  which  are  its  peciiliar  characteristics. 
'i  he  resuscitation  of  the  system  began  openly  to  manifest  it- 
self about  ten  years  back  ;  since  which  period,  two  princi- 
ples or  powers  have  disputed  the  direction  of  public  opinion 
and  government :  the  one,  open,  legal,  constitutional,  sus-' 
ceptible,  indeed,  of  the  errrors  incidental  to  humanity,  but, 
enlightened  by  discussion,  by  the  press,  and  by  the  habits 
connected  with  representative  governments  ; — the  other, 
fraudulent,  fanatie,  and  intriguing,  is  essentially  false,  and, 
like  all  other  fraudulent  combinations,  it  rejoices  in  darkness, 
because  its  deeds  are  evil.  The  first  party  consists  only  of 
the  nation,  of  that  mass  that,  under  the  old  regime  was  trodden 
to  the  earth,  to  which  it  was  bound  in  feodal  servitude ;  that 
was  despised,  wronged,  and  ridiculed,  as  the  tiers  ^tat, — of 
the  men  of  liberal  professions,  of  commerce,  of  letters,  and 
science,  who  were  virtually  included  in  the  territorial  cata- 
logues, among  the  live  stock  which  gave  value  to  Ihe  lands 
of  the  aristocracy.  This  party  is,  in  France,  called  the  parli 
(or  jwuvoir)  -parlementaire.  Its  opponents,  mounted  upon 
the  old  springs  of  Jesuit  machinery,  as  it  existed  in  the  reign 
of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  struggling  to  bring  back  Europe  to 
its  old  position,  compromising  the  throne  they  affect  to  up- 
hold, and  mystifying  the  nation  they  affect  to  instruct,  are 
moved  by  the  Congregation.  This  association  has  enrolled 
in  its  band  the  fragments  of  the  ultras  of  1815  and  1810,  (all 
at  least  who  have  not  deserted  the  Bourbons  for  Pere  la 
Chaise,  that  most  successful  recruiter  for  ^zVowfi/iM  ;)  toge- 
ther with  the  whole  phalanx  of  ministej'ial  dependants,  maires, 
prefets,  bishops,  and  cures,  and  the  candidates  for  and  ex- 
pectants of  similar  offices.  These  two  parties,  so  unequal  in 
numerical  strength,  and  in  moi'al  and  political  force,  were 
brought  into  close  contact  in  the  chamber  of  deputies.  The 
Congregation,  fortified  by  royal  favour,  reigned  there  with  a 
majority  of  more  than  130  ajfilies,  backed  by  place,  pension, 
honours,  and  the  whole  influence  of  Viilele  :  the  nation,  sup- 
ported only  by  the  incorruptibility  of  the  electors,  and  the 
firmness  of  the  cole  gauche,  were  repeatedly  beaten,  but  as  of- 
ten returned  to  the  charge.  After  a  lapse  of  five  years,  the 
force  of  public  opinion  prevailed,  and  the  Congregation  gave 
wa)".  Monsieur  de  Viilele  fell  not  by  a  private  stab,  as  in 
the  times  of  the  RicheUeus,  but  by  the  public  voice  ;  and  h« 


FELIX  HOUBIGAIVT-CHARDIN.  57 

cannot  return  to  power  without  a  tocsin  being  sounded,  wliicli 
will  warn  the  nalion  to  rise  in  defence  of  its  interests.  But 
should  France  thus  be  called  on — should  it  again  be  forced 
to  rise — should  the  folly,  the  feebleness,  the  fanaticism  of  the 
Congregation  urge  the  sovereign  on  the  rocks  of  a  coup  (Telat, 
why  then  let  him  have  his  post-horses  ready,  and  a  courier 
dispatched  to  give  orders  for  the  airing  of  the  royal  apart- 
ments at  Hartwell  or  at  Ghent,  too  happy  if  he  be  not  reduc- 
ed like  Macbeth,  to  declare,  that 

'•  There  is  no  flying  hence,  nor  tarrying  here." 


PERFLMERY.— MAGAZIX  DE  FELIX  HOUBIGANT- 
CHARDIN. 

No  one  should  leave  Paris,  without  visiting  that  "  spicy 
Araby"  of  sweet  odours,  the  Magazin  of  the  Sieur  Felix 
Houbigant-Chardin,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  I  passed  an 
hour  there,  this  morning,  in  an  atmosphere  that  penetrated 
to  the  very  imagination,  and  sent  me  home  with  ideas  as 
musquces  as  my  person.  There  is  a  philosophy  in  odours,  if 
one  knew  how  to  extract  it ;  attars  and  essences  apply  to  the 
mind  with  considerable  influence,  through  the  most  suscepti- 
ble, but  capricious  of  the  senses.  A  Roman  lady  very  liter- 
ally "dies  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain,"  and  swoons  at  the  as- 
pect of  a  bunch  of  flowers ;  while  she  inhales  with  i,ndifler- 
ence  the  steams  of  the  iinmondczzaio  piled  up  under  her 
casement.  A  'petite  ma'itresse  of  Billingsgalc,  or  "  les  Halles," 
perhaps  might  faint  at  the  effluvia  of  an  Hottentot  toilet. 

In  the  middle  ages,  and  even  down  to  the  times  of  the 
Bourbons  and  the  Stuarts,  the  absence  of  personal  cleanliness 
and  domestic  purity  rendered  artificial  odours  indispensable  ; 
and  "sweet  bags,"  perfumed  pillows,  and  scented  gloves, 
breathing  of  rue,  rosemary,  cinnamon,  and  cedar,  like  a  box 
from  the  Fonderia  of  Sania  Maria  Novella,  in  Florence,  were 
indices  of  the  barbarity  of  a  people,  to  whom  the  first  duty  of 
civilization  was  unknown. 

The  hero  of  the  Fronde,  and  traitor  to  all  parties,  the  gal- 
lant  Prince  de  Conde,  was  so  notorious  for  neglecting  his 
person,  that  Mademoiselle  cites  him  in  her  memoirs,  as  past 


ti'6  rtUFUMLKY. JIAGAZIN  DE 

endurance  ;  and  talks  of  his  uncombed  hair,  and  untied 
cravat,  with  other  less  supportable  slovenlinesses.  She  her- 
self,  however,  was  apt  to  lapse  into  similar  faults  ;  and  she 
gives  a  descriplion  of  her  personal  disorder  in  going  in  the 
"  carrosse  de  la  Heine,''''  as  a  thing  of  frequent  occurrence, 
and  even  of  boast,  when  not  in  her  state  toilet. 

In  the  old  times,  apartments  strewed  with  rushes,  rarely 
removed,  or  'parquets  never  washed,  tapestries  that  received 
the  dust  of  ages,  hangings  inaccessible  to  purification,  and 
filthy  feathers  nodding  over  canopies  as  filthy,  with  princes 
and  princesses  too  dignified  to  wash  their  hands,  required  at 
least  an  "  ounce  of  civet,  good  apotliecary/'  to  cleanse  the 
foul  imagination  of  the  visitor  ;  and  tliey  must  have  given  oc- 
casion for  a  love  of  perfunicry,  more  overwhelming  than  mo- 
dern nerves  can  well  relish.  Cardinal  Mazarin,  who,  in  his 
quality  both  of  priest  and  Italian,  could  not  have  been  parti- 
cular in  such  matters,  (for  it  is  unnecessary  to  observe  that 
dirt  was  a  dogma  of  that  religion  of  which  the  pic-puces  were 
the  ministers,  used  to  joke  Anne  of  Austria  for  her  love  of 
perfumery.  He  was  accustomed  to  say,  that  bad  smells 
would  be  her  punishment  in  the  other  world  ;  and  really  I 
think  they  might  suffice  for  any  moderate  iniquity,  short  of 
the  "seven  deadlics." 

As  personal  purity  has  increased,  the  intensity  of  the  fash- 
ionable perfumery  has  lessened  ;  and  the  verity  of  the  axiom 
been  more  generally  acknowledged,  that  they  who  are  with- 
out odour,  are  the  sweetest.  There  is  a  wide  interval  be- 
tween the  musk}^  sv.eet  bags  of  the  olden  times,  and  the  es- 
sences de  Mousseline  and  Resida  of  the  present  day.  In 
1816  the  French  had  scarcely  got  further  in  the  progress  of 
perfumery  th_an  the  eau  de  Chiprc  and  MiUesfieurs  ;  and  the 
eau  de  Cologne  (or,  as  the  lady's  maids  call  it,  eau  de  Coloan) 
was  still  in  high  vogue.  In  the  actual  state  of  illumination, 
eau  de  Cologne  is  banished  to  the  medicine  chest,  with  laven- 
der drops  and  cardamom  tincture.  Instead  of  bathing  the 
handkerchief,  its  ministry  is  confined  to  bathing  bruises,  and 
dissipating  headachs.  By  the  bye,  ?re  Parisians  do  not  bathe 
our  handkerchiefs  now  with  any  thing.  The  most  delicate 
perfume  thus  conveyed,  would  be  deemed  too  strong  and 
coarse  for  modern  romaniic  nerves.  The  process  of  per- 
fuming  an  handkerchief  is  more  elaborately  scientific,  and 
marks  the  spirit  of  the  age  :  as  such,  it  cannot  fail  to  interest 
posterity  ;  and  I  record  it,  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  even 
though  it  should  never  "reach  its  address." 


% 


FELIX  irOUBIGANT-CHARDIN.  59 

Take  a  dozen  embroidered  cobwebs,  such  as  some 
'•  araignee  du  voisinnge''*  might  weave  for  the  reticule  of 
Queen  Mab,  and  phtce  them  in  the  pocket  of  an  elegant  porle- 
mouchoir,  which  must  not  be  of  any  of  the  old  fashioned 
prismatic  colours;  but,  (as  ^'^  La  Mode''  phrases  it,)  '^  du 
couleur  leplus  ??oMoea?f.''f  Into  the  cover  of  this  elegant  and 
indispensable  superfluit}-,  the  delicate  odours  are  to  be  quilt- 
ed, which  communicate  a  just  perceptible  atmosphere  ;  (that 
is  to  say,  an  atmosphere  perceptible  to  the  practised  olfacto- 
ries of  enlightened  nerves  ;)  and  which  mingling  with  the 
freshness  of  the  last  spring-water  rince  of  the  laundry,,  ren- 
ders the  application  of  the  handkerchief  to  the  face  a  "  per- 
fect pleasure."  This  receipt  I  give  almost  in  the  very  words 
of  the  merveilleux  from  whom  I  had  it ;  and  who  inveighed 
with  more  eloquence  than  I  can  hope  to  convey  in  writing, 
against  the  pints  of  lavender  water  which  English  ladies 
scatter  on  their  handkerchiefs,  giving  their  opera  box  the 
smell  of  an  apothecary's  shop,  or  an  Irish  whiskey  house. ^ 

With  reference  to  thia  taste  of  civilization  (the  quality  of 
the  perfume)  the  magazin  of  Monsieur  Chardin  is  two  cen- 
turies m  advance  of  the  essences  of  the  Fondcria  of  Flo- 
rence. Both,  however,  are  to  be  consulted  as  historical  mo- 
numents :  the  one  illustrating  the  charte  ;  the  other,  a  com- 
ment on  the  legislation  of  that  holy  alliance  ;  which,  among 
other  equivocal  works,  has  re-esiablished  the  laboratory  of 
the  monks  of  St.  Dominic,  in  its  monopoly  of  "  quesii  odori 
gratissimi  die  con  il  low  spirilo,  hanno  vlrkl  singolare  di  con.-, 
forlare  e  foriijicare  i  ire  sjiirUi,  il  naiurale,  Vanimale  ed  d  vi- 
tale ;  siccome  ricreano  ammirabilmente  la,  icsfa,  corroljorando 
il  cerehro,  e  risvegliando  la  merite."^  There  is  no  taste  so 
frivolous,  but  it  has  its  philosophy. 

*  '*  Neighbourino;  spider."  t  "  The  newest  liue." 

t  That  is,  when  the  spirit  predominates  (no  uncommon  case)  over  the 
lavender. 

§"Jf  this  '' choice  Italian"  of  the  monks  of  St.  Dominic  require  trans- 
lation, the  foliowin^c  is  their  "  own  choice  English,"  and  may  ho  de- 
pended on  as  faithful  : — 

'•  These  are  most  grateful  Odours  or  Pesfumes,  that  powerfully  che- 
"  risch,  confirm  et  fortify,  the  natural,  the  animal  and  the  Vital  Sipirits  ; 
'' they  also  recreate  and  enliven  all  the  parts  ot  the  Head,  sfrengthen- 
'•ing  te  Brain,  quinckening  tiie  Apprehension,  and  preserving  the  Me- 
"  mory.'' 


[   60] 


THE  COUNT  DE  TRACY. 

"  Destutt  de  Tracy,"  says  the  venerable  Jefferson,  in  his 
admirable  letters  to  John  Adams,  "  is,  in  my  judgment,  one 
of  the  ablest  writers  on  intellectual  subjects.  His  three  oc- 
tavo volumes  of  ideology j'*-  which  constitute  the  foundation 
of  what  he  has  since  written,  I  have  not  entirely  read,  be- 
cause 1  am  not  fond  of  reading  what  is  merely  abstract  and 
unapplied  immediately  to  some  useful  science.  Bonaparte, 
with  his  re|)eated  derisions  of  ideologists,  squinting  at  this  au- 
thor, has,  by  this  time,  felt  that  true  wisdom  does  not  lie  in 
mere  practice,  without  principle.  The  next  work  De  Tracy 
wrote  was  his  Commentary  on  Montesquieu  ;  although  call- 
ed a  Commentary,  it  is,  in  truth,  an  elementary  work,  on  the 
principles  of  government.  He  has  lately  published  a  third 
work,  on  political  ceconomy,  in  which  all  its  principles  are 
demonstrated,  with  the  severity  of  Euclid,  and,  like  him, 
without  ever  using  a  superfluous  word." — Memoirs  and  Cor- 
rcspondtnce  of  T.  Jefferson,  vol.  iv.  p.  305. 

The  Count  Di;stutt  de  Tkacy,  the  champion  of  positive 
ideas,  the  subtile  analyst  of  mental  philosophy,  the  conimen- 
tutor  and  developer  of  Locke,  is,  in  England,  more  celebrated 
(iiiui  luiown  ;  because  his  writings  have  swept  away  more  of 
tiie  cobwebs  of  sophistry  from  moral  science  than  suits  the 
interests  of  those  who  dictate  opinions  to  those  most  confid- 
ing and  indolent  of  half-thinkers,  the  larger  portion  of  the 
British  public.  This  is  not  precisely  the  place  to  enter  upon 
abstract  points  of  philosophy,  nor,  if  it  were,  am  I  competent 
to  illustrate  the  views  which  De  Tracy  has  taken  of  the  all 
important  subjects  of  which  he  has  treated.  It  is,  however, 
sufficient  to  say  that  he  has,  in  his  writings  on  mind,  follow- 
ed and  extended  the  method  of  the  immortal  author  of  the 
Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  and  has  admitted  no 
position  into  the   category  of  science,  which  is  not  more  or 

*  They  now  form  five  volumes.  Ideology,  the  science  of  iJeas,  com- 
prehends the  whole  round  of  moral  philosophy.  The  phenomena  of 
sensations  and  volitions,  grammar,  logic,  morality,  government,  and  po- 
litical ceconomy,  form  a  series  of  dependent  facts  distinct  from  those 
which  belong  to  physical  science,  and  embrace  a  circle,  which  has  been 
called  ideology,  to  distinguish  it  from  metaphysics,  or  d  priori  specula- 
tions concerning  mind. 


THE  COUiXT  DE  TKACY.  61 

less  directly  referable  to  observed  fact.  He  has  endeavour- 
ed, and  more  successfully  than  his  predecessors,  to  redeem 
his  subject  from  the  inconclusive  vagueness  and  verbiage  of 
the  old  metaphysicians,  and  to  introduce  into  moral  philoso- 
phy the  Baconian  method,  which  has  given  such  gigantic  pro- 
portions, and  such  immutable  certainty  to  the  natural  sci- 
ences. Considering  the  mental  operations  as  phenomena, 
equally  susceptible  of  being  observed  and  appreciated  as  any 
other  functions  of  the  organization,  he  has  applied  his  sin- 
gularly acute  and  lucid  intellect  to  their  enumeration  and 
analysis ;  and,  laying  on  one  side  all  hypothetical  reasonings, 
he  has  fixed  the  boundaries  between  the  demonstrable  portion 
of  psychology,  and  that  which  must  ever  remain  conjectural, 
and  incapable  of  proof.  His  style  is  simple  and  clear,  to 
transparency  ;  and  notwithstanding  the  abstruseness  of  his 
subject,  (abstruse,  when  treated  by  the  writers  of  the  old 
school,)  his  works  are  easy  reading,  even  to  the  least  initiat- 
ed in  such  studies.  They  must,  therefore,  be  ranked  as 
classical ;  and  as  they  mark  an  epoch  in  French  literature, 
so  they  will,  in  all  probability,  maintain  their  place  and  repu- 
tation as  a  necessar}-  part  of  educational  study,  unless  some 
unforeseen  revolution  in  knowledge  should  wholly  supersede 
all  that  is  at  present  known  concerning  the  matters  he  dis- 
cusses. 

Monsieur  de  Tracy  is  one  of  those  rare  and  estimable  per- 
sons in  whom  the  accident  of  birth  has  not  determined  the 
nature  and  character  of  their  political  and  philosophical  opi- 
nions. He  has  inherited  from  his  ancestors  none  of  that  in- 
vincible prejudice  and  indomitable  hostility  to  popular  rights 
and  popular  reasonings  which  attached  so  closely  to  the  ge- 
nerality of  the  members  of  the  privileged  classes  in  France. 
All  his  writings  breathe  a  warm,  and  even  enthusiastic  love 
of  his  species  ;  and  his  commentary  on  Montesquieu  may  be 
consulted  with  advantage  by  all  the  advocates  of  good  govern- 
ment, and  the  happiness  of  the  greatest  number. 

There  are  certain  positions,  and,  above  all,  certain  cele- 
brities in  society,  to  which  the  mind  necessarily  attaches  cer. 
tain  ideas — ideas  which  are  not  to  be  shaken  ofT,  however 
often  refuted  by  individual  experience.  When  we  approach 
thie  cell  of  the  sage,  or  the  study  of  the  philosopher,  we  feel 
a  certain  reverential  awe  that  communicates  itself  even  to 
our  movements.  1  thought,  therefore,  that  I  was  unconscion- 
ably  late,  the  night  I  visited  a  person  of  the  Count  de  Tra- 
ces advanced  age  and  character,  a  conscript  father  of  the 

Vol.  I.— G 


62  THE  COUNT  DE  TRACY. 

House  of  Peers,  and  the  most  profound  of  moral  philoso- 
phers. But  there  was  no  getting  away  from  Monsieur  de 
•Segur's,  whose  society  and  conversation  make  one  forget 
"  all  seasons  ana  their  changes."  Yet  it  was  a  point  to  visit, 
on  the  same  evening,  the  most  brilliant  remaining  litth'aleur, 
and  the_most  celebrated  metaphysician  of  the  last  century  ; 
— to  say  nothing  of  a  rendezvous  with  Lafayette.  As  we 
passed  through  the  antechamber,  and  entered  the  first  salon, 
I  was  surprised  to  calch  the  sound  of,  what  the  prim  brothers 
of  the  lady  in  Comus,  too  precisely  call  "  ill-managed  mirth" 
— mirth  that  exploded  in  joyous  peals  of  laughter,  coming 
from  the  heart  of  the  youthful.  The  room  was  almost  im- 
passable. Its  centre  was  occupied  by  a  circle  of  young  per- 
sons of  both  sexes,  (the  grandchildren  of  De  Tracy  and  of 
Lafayette,)  with  their  friends  ;  among  whom  were  some  ju- 
venile Americans.  In  the  midst  of  this  group  stood  Lafa- 
yette, legislating  for  some  complex  case  in  the  law  of  forfeits, 
for  which  purpose  he  had  been  called  away  from  another 
group  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  composed  of  Benjamin 
de  Constatit,  the  Ternaux,  Perriers,  Monsieur  Victor  de  Tra- 
cy, and  other  notables  of  the  coU  gauche  of  both  chambers  ; 
whose  conversation  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  the  joy- 
ous party,  no  less  intent  on  their  small  plays,  than  the  seni- 
ors were  on  the  great  game  of  political  life,  which  they  were 
discussing.  My  own  dear  little  relation,  who  accompanied 
me,  was  received  into  this  happy  party,  as  though  she  had 
been  as  old  a  friend  of  its  members  as  her  aunt ;  and  I  left 
her,  in  a  moment,  as  busily  occupied  in  the  mysteries  of  le 
mot  a  double  sens,  as  if  the  acquaintance  of  a  minute  had 
been  the  friendship  of  a  century.     Oh  !  youth,  youth  ! 

"  Give  me  back,  give  me  back,  the  wild  freshness  of  morning, 
Us  tears  and  its  sighs  are  worth  evening's  best  smiles  !" 

The  Count  de  Tracy  was  seated  between  two  extremely 
pretty  and  fashionable  women.  Several  distinguished  fo- 
reigners were  dispersed  through  the  room.  The  Count's 
excellent  daughter,  Madame  George  Lafayette,  presided  at 
the  tea-table  ;  and  the  elegant  Madame  Victor  de  Tracy,  his 
daughter-in-law,  was  doing  the  honours  to  some  female 
strangers  in  another  part  of  the  salon. 

The  assemblies  of  Monsieur  de  Tracy,  which  occur  week- 
ly during  the  seasoji,  are  among  the  most  select  and  remark- 
able in  Paris.  Inaccessible  to  common-place  mediocrity  and 
pushing  pretension,  their  visitor  must  be  ticketted  in  some 


THE  COUNT  DE  TRACY.  63 

way  or  other  to  obtain  a  presentation.  We  found  ou  ■  cele- 
brated host  much  declined  in  health  and  strength.  His  fine 
intellect,  however,  was  unaltered,  and  his  conversation  full 
of  interest  and  information.  Still  there  hangs  a  shade  over 
his  spirits,  a  feeling  consciousness  of  impaired  powers,  which 
none  but  himself  perceives,  and  which,  I  believe,  is  peculiar 
to  persons  of  genius  and  of  strong  character  in  old  age.  It 
is  rarely  found  in  the  senility  of  the  dull  and  the  ordinary. 
Self-occupied  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb,  tiieir  mechanical 
flutter,  in  advanced  life,  is  but  a  continuance  of  the  heartless 
vivacity  of  their  youth.  What  capabilities  to  please  others 
we  must  possess,  before  we  become  dissatisfied  with  our- 
selves ! — We  endeavoured  to  argue  the  Count  out  of  his 
conviction  of  being  greatly  changed  since  we  last  saw  him  ; 
but  it  is  to  no  purpose  that  we  preach  to  feeling :  so  we  got 
upon  other  subjects,  which  drew  him  out  to  talk,  in  a  manner 
that  was  the  best  refutation  of  his  opinion  of  himself.  We 
talked  of  modern  literature  and  philosophy,  of  the  romanti- 
cists and  classicists.  Like  all  the  men  of  a  higher  order  of 
intellect,  in  France,  he  is  of  no  school  but  that  of  truth.  He 
has  studied  in  all ;  and  acknowledges  the  spell  of  talent 
wherever  he  finds  it.  I  spoke  of  a  young  man  with  whom  I 
had  lately  conversed,  and  who  talked  lightly  of  Voltaire's 
genius.  "That,"  he  replied,  ''is  an  opinion  of  a  party,  or 
rather,  a  mode  desecte.  I  had,"  he  said,  "  an  academic  dis- 
pute on  the  subject  with  poor  Auger,  a  few  days  before  he 
drowned  himself.  At  a  sitting  of  the  Institute  he  had  read 
us  a  paper  on  Voltaire,  which  he  intended  for  a  biographical 
work,  and  in  which  he  treated  the  first  writer,  tlie  greatest 
and  most  universal  genius  that  France  ever  produced,  as  a 
clever  school-boy,  amusing,  but  superficial ;  and  talked  of 
his  having  '  some  grace  in  his  style.'  I  was  then  suffering 
under  a  complication  of  maladies — I  was  very  ill ;  but  in- 
dignation gave  me  strength  ;  and  to  the  best  of  my  poor  abi- 
lity,  I  defended  the  man  (who  will  want  no  defence  with  pos- 
terity) againsf  one  of  those  ephemeral  attacks  which  are  al. 
ready  forgotten.  I  replied,  with  more  warmth,  perhaps,  than 
such  an  attack  could  deserve  ;  but  to  hear  the  author  of 
•  Mahomet,'  of  the  '  Henriade,'  of  '  Candide,'  and  of  those 
admirable  volumes  of  correspondence,  equally  remarkable 
for  their  playful  wit  and  their  philosoph}',  complimented  for 
possessing  '  some  grace  !'  and  this,  too,  by  a  Monsieur. 
Auger  ! — it  was  difficult  to  be  calm." 

"And   who  is   Monsieur  Auger?"  I  asked,  "I  know  no- 


64  THE  COUNT  DE  TRACY. 

thing  of  him.  His  name  has  not  yet  crossed  the  Channel.'^ 
He  a:nswered  me  by  a  quotation  from  '  U Hypocrisies  of  Vol- 
taire. It  was  quite  fine  to  see  the  Locke  of  hfs  age  and 
country,  tiius  suddenly  forgetting  his  infirmities  in  a  burst  of 
generous  displeasure  against  the  folly  and  presumption  of 
obscure  mediocrity,  in  thus  undervaluing  a  genius,  upon 
which  the  public  has  definitively  decided.*  Voltaire  is  the 
author  whose  renown  will  survive  that  of  all  the  writers  who 
flourished  with  him.  "  We  shall  see  what  the  present  age 
will  produce  ;  at  least  our  posterity  will  ;  but  as  yet  he  has 
the  most  voices  with  him.  The  numberless  editions  which 
are  daily  teeming  from  the  press,  of  all  sizes  and  prices,  ex- 
ceed all  that  has  ever  been  achieved  of  popularity  by  any 
writer,  in  any  country." 

Ye  classicists  and  romanticists  of  the  nineteenth  century 
— which  of  you  will  do  this?  We  talked  of  the  new  school 
of  philosophy.  The  school  of  Monsieur  Cousin  is  not  that 
of  the  Count  de  Tracy  ;  but,  oh  !  what  indulgence,  what  to- 
leration, what  justice  and  impartiality,  with  respect  to  the  ta- 
lents, the  merits,  and  the  spirit  of  the  young  philosopher  * 
"  Au  resle,^^  he  said,  when  we  pressed  him  a  little  too  closely 
for  his  sentiments,  "  I  can  give  you  no  very  decided  opinion, 
for  I  do  not  understand  my  author.  II  faut  entendre,  ait 
main's  pour  juger ;  and  I  must  answer  your  question  like  the 
man  in  the  comedy  : 

"Que  penzez-vous,  monsieur,  de  cette  auteur  ? 
Je  peiise,  raadarae,  qu'il  est — fort  el-la- mode." 

If  simplicity  be  the  true  test  of  genius,  it  exists  iii  the  per^ 
son  and  manners  of  Monsieur  de  Tracy,  in  its  most  winning 
and  amiable  form  ;  uniting  the  frankness  and  honesty  of 
Franklin  with  all  the  ease  and  polish  of  the   French   gentle- 

*  This  opinion,  whicli  prevails  cliiefly  among  tiie  younger  literati  oC 
Paris,  is  deiived  partly  from  ilie  present  age  having  got  so  far  the  start 
of  the  last,  and  [)artly  by  a  reaction  produced  by  the  obvious  eifort  to 
restore  a  veneration  for  whatever  is  old.  The  classicists  hold  nothing 
perfect  that  is  more  recent  than  Louis  XIV'. ;  and  the  romanticist  re- 
venges liimself  by  denying  merit  to  all  that  is  older  than  his  owt)  times. 
That  clause  also  of  the  C'harte,  which  excludes  men  under  forty  from 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  has  produced  a  schism  between  the  young 
and  the  old,  which  powerfully  modifies  the  sentiments  of  individuals^ 
The  nation  at  large,  however,  of  all  ages  and  sects,  are  still  true  to 
their  worship  of  Voltaire;  a  worship  that  has  been  almost  inflamed  to 
fanaticism  by  the  violence  of  the parri-^re/rc  against  bis  Avorks  and  me- 
mory. 


BALL  AT  THE  ENGLISH  EMBASSY.  ,  65 


man  of  the  old  school ;  ga}',  cheerful,  and  affectionate  in  iiis 
domestic  intercourse,  his  private  virtues  are  as  respectable 
as  his  public  character  is  exalted.  In  his  own  person  he  il- 
lustrates by  irrefutable  example,  that  the  highest  order  of  in- 
tellect  is  the  best  adapted  to  the  practice  of  the  purest 
morality.  It  is,  in  fact,  an  error  as  unfounded  as  it  is  mischie- 
vous, to  suppose  that  there  exists  a  natural  connexion  between 
genius  and  irregularity.  The  Miltons,  the  Lockes,  the  New- 
tons,  the  Benthams,  and  the  De  Tracys,  are  undeniable  wit- 
nesses to  the  contrary. 

At  the  weekly  assemblies  of  this  excellent  and  eminent 
man,  and  his  charming  family,  we  were  constant  attendants, 
during  our  residence  in  Paris;  and  it  was  with  feelings  of 
sincere  regret  that  we  took  leave  of  one,  whose  advanced 
age,  coupled  with  the  uncertainty  of  our  early  return  to 
PVance,  made  it  so  doubtful  whether  we  should  ever  again 
enjoy  his  society.  The  Count  de  Tracy,  notwithstanding  his 
growing  infirmities,  is  constant  in  his  attendance  at  the  cham- 
ber  of  peers,  whenever  a  question  of  major  importance  re- 
quires the  benefit  of  his  talents  and  vote.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  add,  that  the  friend  and  kinsman  of  Lafayette  has,  through- 
out the  revolution,  been  a  firm  and  consistent  supporter  of  li- 
beral principles. 


B\LL  AT  THE  ENGLISH  EMBASSY. 


"Que  d'objpts.  que  de  fjens,  inconnus  jusqiralnrs. 
T  ous  les  ai;il)HSsadf>iir-:,  des  marechaux,  des  lords  : 
D«s  arlistt'i,  Ih  fleiir  de  la  lilterrtMire  ! 
Des  feiiitnes.  (|ii''i  ectit,  quel  goCit  dansleiir  pariire — 
Dieu  !  le^  beaux  diain;iiis  !"  Ecole  de  f  ieillartls* 

On  the    first  burst  of  this    magnificent   assembly  on  my 
dazzled-  eyes,  I  felt   pretty   much  as  Hortense  is  supposed  to 

•  "  What  a  scene,  and  what  faces  one  ne'er  saw  before, 
Lords,  niar>hals,  nmhassadors,  princes  'lalore- ; 
Romanticist'!,  c  assicists,  b'ue  slocking  peers, 
With  .ii  tists,  in  virtu  rieep' 1  up  to  tl:e  ears  ! 
T   en  the  women  !  wliai  S|)lend(»ur  and  laste  in  their  finery, 
And,  ye  godi  !  wtifil  fine  diamonds,  all  glitter  and  shinery." 
6* 


6if»'  BALL  AT  THE  ENGLISH  EMBASSY- 

do,  when  she  gives  vent  to  her  feelings  in  the  above  quoted^ 
exclamations.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  like  these  di- 
plomatic balls  on  the  continent,  for  brilliancy  and  the  gathering 
of  strange  and  remarkable  people  ;  and  this,  upon  the  whole, 
was  one  of  the  most  splendid  and  picturesque  I  ever  saw.  It 
was  given  in  honour  of  the  king's  birthday,  (the  king  of  Eng- 
land's s^entencl).  All  the  great  authorities  were  in  grand  cos- 
tume ;  and  the  rest  of  the  company  in  full  court  dresses,  except 
that  the  women  did  not  wear  trains,  and  that  court  plumes  were 
not  de  rigueur.  The  representatives  of  all  the  nations  of  the 
civilized  world,  each  in  his  national  or  professional  dress^ 
afforded  a  curious  and  interesting  spectacle,  on  which  philo- 
sophy itself  might  have  gcizod,  without  reproach. 

It  was  a  bal  costume,  to  which  ages  lent  their  assistance  :. 
and  imagination  could  scarcely  have  added  a  trait  to  the  pic- 
turesque eticct  of  the  diplomatic  masquerade  in  which  past 
and  present  times  combined  to  add  diversity  and  rarity.  The 
most  striking  group  was  that  formed  by  the  Austrian  embas- 
sy, splendidly  altired  in  ancient  historical  costumes  ;  with  a 
numerous  troop  of  attaches,  the  elite  of  the  gay,  the  gallant 
youth  of  their  country,  in  all  the  gorgeous  pageantry  of  the 
middle  ages.  When  his  Austrian  excellence  was  announced, 
how  I  started,  with  all  the  weight  of  Aulic  proscription  on 
my  head.  The  representative  of  the  long-armed  monarch 
of  Hapsburg  so  near  me, — of  him,  who,  could  he  only  once 
get  his  tidgetty  fingers  on  my  little  neck,  would  give  it  a 
twist,  that  would  save  his  custom-house  officers  all  future 
trouble  of  breaking  carriages  and  harassing  travellers,  in 
search  of  the  pestilent  writings  of  "  Ladi  Morgan."  I  did 
not  breathe  freely,  till  his  excellency  had  passed  on  with  his 
glittering  train,  into  the  illuminated  conservatory,  and  was  lost 
in  a  wilderness  of  flowering  shrubs  and  orange  trees.  Other 
visions  as  bright,  but  less  startling,  succeeded,  appearing  and 
disappearing  with  a  rapidity,  that  added  to  the  illusion  of 
the  scene,  till  the  opening  of  the  ball  left  the  reception  room 
clear  and  cool,  and  gave  me  time  and  opportunity  to  look 
around  at  the  changes  impressed  on  the  mansion,  since  I  had 
last  seen  it,  some  dozen  years  or  so  gone  by. 

All  h-ere,  as  elsewhere,  was  altered,  totally  altered  ;  the 
room  I  was  in,  was  still  that  where  Pauline  Bonaparte,  Prin- 
cess Borghese,  had  figured  in  such  loveliness  and  fortune  ; 
but  all  the  alentours  of  her  favourite  apartment,  which  were, 
on  my  last  visit,  as  fresh  as  when  she  had  left  them,  had  va- 
aished.     The  canopy  of  her  superb  bed,  the  hue  and  forai  of" 


BALL  AT  THE  ENGLISH  EMBASSY.  67 

her  magnificent  furniture,  like  her  beautiful  self,  were  gone, 
and  left  no  wreck  behind,  save  in  the  memory  of  the  behold- 
ers. The  hotel  had  been  newly  and  entirely  fitted  up  by  its 
present  tasteful  and  elegant  tenant,  with  a  splendour  chasten- 
ed by  simplicity,  and  an  admirable  adaptation  and  harznony 
of  its  hues  and  ornaments.  The  pompous  and  cumbrous  ex- 
travagance of  decoration,  substituted  by  Napoleon  for  the 
republican  simplicity'of  the  half-furnished  apartments  of  the 
first  consul  (rich  and  sumptuous  as  it  was)  was  far  inferior  to 
the  taste,  accommodation,  and  enjoyment  (if  I  may  use  the 
term)  of  the  style  of  furnishing,  which  prevails  in  the  present 
day.  The  conservatory  alone,  (a  creation  of  Lady  Stuart,) 
and  its  illumination,  were  worth  all  that  had  preceded  it,  on  a 
site,  where  the  imperial  treasures  were  permitted  to  flow  with 
unrestrained  profusion  :  biit  the  mines  of  Golconda  cannot 
purchase  taste,  that  slow  product  of  time,  experiment,  and 
the  full  developement  of  all  the  arts.  "  Barbaric  pomp  and 
gold"  are  the  results  of  the  first  attempts  at  civilization,  pre- 
ceding the  homelier  but  important  arts,  which  constitute  the 
comfort  of  nations  ;  but  the  discovery,  that  state  is  not  in- 
compatible with  enjoyment,  and  that  true  luxury  is  ease,  is 
among  the  last  refinements  of  regal  and  aristocratic  inge- 
nuity. 

While  I  was  thus  occupied  in  noting  the  operations  of  time 
and  change,  since  my  last  visit  to  the  embassy,  one  was  an- 
nounced, unchanged,  and  it  should  almost  seem  unchangeable 
— the  Prince  Talleyrand.  It  was  the  same  impassible  coun- 
tenance that  I  had  seen  at  the  Duchesse  de  Berri's  marriage; 
and  were  I  now  to  describe  it,  I  could  but  repeat  the  very 
phrase  which  I  then  employed,  ^^  jamais  visage  ne  fut  moins 
baj-ometre.''*  The  youthful  had  passed  their  prime,  the  man- 
ly and  the  vigorous  had  dropped  into  caducity  ;  the  reigning 
beauties  who,  on  this  spot,  had  sought  to  conquer  the  nation's 
conqueror,  had  given  place  to  successors,  who  in  their  turn 
already  were  learning  that  their  tenure  is  not  eternal  ;  but 
Talleyrand  was  still  the  same,  an  unchanging  monument  of 
the  mutability  of  all  things  around  him. 

*  "  Never  was  there  a  countenance  so  little  the  barometer  of  the 
feelings." 


[68] 


THE  COUNT  DE  SEGUR. 

We  have  just  returned  from  a  delighful  dinner  at  the  Count 
de  Segur's.  In  France  the  "  oiije  dine,Je  reste,"  of  Madame 
du  DefFand's  English  bore,  is  a  rare  event.  A  dinner  party, 
in  Paris,  always  breaks  up  with  the  chasse  cafe,  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening  would  be  too  short  for  the  multifarious  claims 
made  on  its  hours  by  pleasure,  were  it  "  as  long  as  Lapland 
nights,  when  nights  are  longest  there."  But  when  one  goes 
to  such  societies  as  that  of  Monsieur  de  Segur,  where  one  is 
seated  at  his  round  table  of  eight,  where  every  word  that 
falls,  would  form  the  redemption  of  an  Ana,  or  swell  the  note 
book  of  the  historian, — where  the  careless  pleasantry  of  not 
unconscious  wit  is  indulged  with  the  certainty  of  a  congenial 
auditory,  and  names  marked  by  every  species  of  celebrity, 
both  of  past  and  present  times,  give  confidence  to  every  effu- 
sion  of  gaiety  or  of  philosophy, — the  fearful  words  of  the 
faclieux  are  forgotten,  and  one  willingly  remains  to  "the  last 
syllable  of  time,"  which  the  late  habits  of  Paris  accord  to 
every  society.  With  what  a  pleasant  emotion  of  surprise, 
curiosity,  and  admiration,  I  first  met  Monsieur  de  Scgur,  in 
1810,  at  a  dcjeune  a  la  fourchetle,  given  us  by  Denon,  in  his 
splendid  apartments  on  the  Quai  Voltaire.  Monsieur  de  S. 
had  not  then  made  his  new  claims  upon  public  interest,  by 
the  vivacious  and  simple  relations  of  that  most  varied  and  im- 
portant life,  which  have  since  come  forth  in  his  own  elegant 
and  most  amusing  memoirs  :  but  I  knew  enough  of  the  lite- 
rature and  politics  of  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  to  be 
aware  with  what  success  and  celebrity  he  h.-^d  mingled  in  its 
business  and  in  its  pleasures.  The  son  of  the  gallant  Mare- 
chal  de  Regur,  the  brother  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  wits 
of  France,  the  father  of  the  best  military  historian  of  the 
present  day,  the  uncle  of  the  illustriuus  Lafayette,  and  the 
companion  of  his  striking  campaigns  in  America,  the  most 
successful  diplomatist  of  his  time,  the  ambassador  of  Louis 
the  Sixteenth  to  Russia,  Prussia,  and  Rome,  the  friend  and 
travelling  companion  of  Catherine  of  Russia,  of  the  Emperor 
Joseph,  of  Frederick  of  Prussia,  (a  striking  evidence,  by  the- 
bye,  of  the  possibility  of  the  highest  intellect  occupying  the 
highest  places  under  false  and  baneful  institutions,  with  lit- 
tle benefit  to  mankind,)  aad  one  of  the  most  classical  and; 


THE  COUNT  DE  SEGUR.  69 

voluminous  writers  of  modern  Franco — had  claims  upon  the 
attention  of  an  educated  stranger,  which  must  have  rendered 
him  an  especial  object  of  interest  in  any  circle,  however  bril- 
liant. I  soon  discovered  that  he  was  also  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  and  amiable  persons  (in  the  strictest  sense  of  those 
charming  epithets,)  that  I  had  ever  met,  in  any  society,  at 
home  or  abroad. 

He  was  then  accompanied  by  his  late  estimable  and  ad- 
mirable wife  ;  and  though  both  were  struggling  under  one. 
of  the  most  striking  reverses  of  fortune,  which,  even  in  thia 
age  of  strange  transitions,  have  struck  down  a  brilliant  pros- 
perity  to  the  very  extreme  of  adversity,  yet  the  talents  which 
had  charmed  and  mastered  the  astute  policy  of  Catherine, 
the  spirit  which  had  tied  the  pleasurable  pavilions  of  Ver- 
sailles, for  the  desolation  of  the  wilderness  and  the  perils  of 
the  camp,  and  the  graces  which  called  the  ex-minister  of  the 
Bourbons  to  preside  over  the  imperial  court  of  the  modern 
Charlemagne,  were  in  that  gloomy  and  doubtful  moment,  in 
their  fullest  force  and  activity. 

From  the  date  of  this  first  introduction  to  the  present  mo- 
ment, when  I  am  come  fresh  from  the  charm  of  his  society, 
I  have  owed  to  the  friendship  and  abilities  of  Monsieur  de 
Segur,  an  increasing  sum  of  obligation,  which,  whether  bor- 
rowed from  his  society,  or  his  works,  lias  contributed  largely 
to  the  pleasure  and  instruction  of  my  life. 

The  last  books  I  read,  before  leaving  Ireland,  (and  it  was 
for  the  second  time,)  had  been  the  first  three  volumes  of  his 
own  memoirs  ;  but  notwithstanding  the  spirit  and  grace  with 
which  they  are  written,  I  almost  feared  our  first  interview. 
The  head  of  the  noble  tree  was  evidently  still  green  and  vigor- 
ous ;  but  its  trunk  and  branches,  and  all  the  external  signs  of" 
preservation,  might  but  too  px'obably  have  yielded  under  the 
attacks  of  malady,  on  a  frail  and  failing  constitution.  Since 
we  had  last  met.  Monsieur  de  Segur  had  sustained  severe 
domestic  afflictions,  and  he  was  now  seventy-seven.  I  wait- 
ed, therefore,  till  my  husband  had  visited  him,  and  reported 
to  me  the  state  of  his  health,  that  I  might  not  come  upon 
him  in  all  the  redundancy  of  my  own  newly-kindled  ex- 
citements, and  with  spirits  too  exuberant,  perhaps,  to  be  in 
harmony  with  his  own.  My  husband  found  him  going  to 
the  House  of  Peers,  of  which  he  is  a  diligent  member  ;  and 
a  cordial  recognition,  an  English  shake  of  the  hand,  and  an 
intimation  that  he  received  company  every  evening,  set  ap« 
prehension  at  rest. 


70  Tire  COUNT  DK  SEGUR. 

If  there  is  a  country  in  the  world  where  age  sliould  re- 
treat, to  wear  out  its  brief  remains  of  existence,  and  die  in 
the  midst  of  enjoyment,  it  is  France  ;  for  there  intellect,  and 
what  the  French  term  "  esprit,^^  [which  are  of  all  ages,)  are 
the  qualities  most  prized  ;  and  friendship  is  the  sentiment 
the  most  inherent  and  inHuential.  We  found  Monsieur  de 
Segur  surrounded  by  old  and  young>  friends,  by  some  of  the 
liveliest  and  loveliest  women  of  the  capital.  His  male  com- 
pany was  chiefly  composed  of  the  liberal  members  of  the 
House  of  Peers,  general  officers  en  retraite,  (men  whose 
names  were  well  known  in  the  fasti  of  the  heroic  i\ge  of 
France,)  and  authors  of  .confirmed  celebrity.  This  society 
was  perpetually  changing  during  the  hours  of  our  visit ;  the 
grey  heads  of  the  aged,  and  the  '' chapeaux  feuris,''  of  the 
young  succeeding  and  mingling,  and  giving  interest  to  a  cir- 
cle, whose  great  charm,  (after  the  object  round  which  it 
moves,)  is,  that  it  is  made  up  of  no  one  party,  sect,  or  fac- 
tion in  politics,  literature,  or  philosophy.  It  is  sufficient  to 
have  merit,  agreeabilify,  or  the  claims  of  old  acquaintance, 
to  belong  to  it ;  but,  truth  to  tell,  it  is  still  so  far  exclusive, 
that  what  Madame  Roland  calls  "  VuniverselJe  mediocrity" 
gains  no  admission  there. 

What  a  delightful  existence  we  found  Monsieur  de  S.  en- 
joying !  and  yet,  over  our  meeting,  time  and  death  had 
thrown  their  deepest  shades. — His  once  beautiful  person, 
still  so  distinguished  by  its  air  de  grand  Seigneur,  was  much 
changed  since  we  had  last  seen  him  ;  though  his  sight  was 
considerably  improved,  and  his  toilet  was  as  soignee,  and  his 
smile  as  benignant  as  ever.  After  our  first  salutation  and 
inquiries  were  over,  two  images  fixed  my  attention,  which 
saddened  the  conversation.  Immediately  opposite  his  ha- 
bitual seat  was  a  fine  picture  of  Madame  de  Segur,  who  had 
died  the  year  before,  and  whom  we  had  left  in  health  and 
spirits  :  a  little  bust  of  our  mutual  friend,  Denon,  was  on  the 
chimney-piece. 

Interpreting  our  looks,  he  observed,  "  yes,  two  dear 
friends  are  gone  since  we  last  met.  That  is  a  fine  picture  ; 
it  is  painted  by  my  old  friend,  Madame  Le  Brun  ;  who,  thank 
God,  is  alive  and  wonderfully  well."  After  a  moment's  si- 
lence, he  continued, — "  'tis  very  like  !  and  it  is  all  that  re- 
mains of  fifty  years  of  the  most  perfect  friendship  of  which  I 
know  any  example.  Not  only  there  was  not  a  single  disa- 
greement between  us  upon  general  subjects  of  literature, 
politics,  or  private  affairs,  but  (he  added  with  emphasis)  pas 


THE  COUNT  DE  SEGUR.  71 

le  moindre  nuage  domeslique,  pas  mhne  une  difference  d'opinion 
dans  les  defaUs  du  inaiage*  The  loss  of  such  a  friend,  such 
a  companion,  such  a  secretaiy,  is  not  to  be  estimated — would 
not  be  endurable,  if  there  was  much  of  life  left  to  indulge  in 
vain  regrets.  What  comfort  and  support  she  was  to  me  un- 
der my  (Treat  calamities  !  When  you  were  in  France,  she 
was  my  amanuensis,  and  wrote  the  whole  of  my  '  Universal 
History,'  under  my  dictation  ;  for  I  was  then  almost  blind. 
And,  poor  Denon,  too,  your  chevalier,  and  my  oldest  friend, 
after  my  nephew  Lafayette,  and  De  Tracy.  Two  days  be- 
fore his  death  he  dropped  in  here,  at  a  lute  hour  ;  as  young 
as  you  knew  him.  He  was  in  the  highept  health  and  spirits, 
and  full  of  engagements  to  Enghsh  din;;ers  and  French  as- 
semblies.  I  said,  '  no  matter  what  your  engagements  are, 
you  must  dine  with  me  the  day  after  to-morrow.  C^est  la 
fite  de  Madame  de  Segur.'     He   replied  that  he  would  not 

fail ;  and  he  went  off  to  Madame  d'H ,  to  consult  on 

a  birth-day  present  for  my  wife.  The  t  >y  arrived,  and  while 
we  were  waiting  for  him,  the  frightful  intelligence  was 
brought  us,  that  he  was  no  more." 

To  change  the  conversation,  which  was  becoming  too 
painful  to  spirits  susceptible  of  every  injpression,  my  husband 
talked  to  him  of  his  Memoires,  of  which  he  could  not  say 
more  laudatory  things  than  we  both  thought. 

Monsieur  Segur  replied  that  he  had  written,  to  the  best  of 
his  conviction,  in  the  spirit  of  veracity,  and  the  most  perfect 
impartiality  towards  all  parties  :  that  was  his  merit. 

"  But  when  shall  we  have  the  fourth  volume  ?" 

He  shook  his  head,  and  said  — "  'his  is  not  the  moment. 
Come  what  come  may,  I  ne^er  will  write  against  my  con- 
viction ;  and  whenever  I  shall  speak  of  that  great  man  to 
whom  I  owed  so  much,  I  shall  say  what  I  believe  to  be  the 
truth."      He  alluded  to  Napoleon. 

There  is  an  absence  of  pretension  and  a  noble  simplicity 
in  the  higher  order  of  genius,  which,  with  the  superficial,  is 
apt  to  detract  from  that  adtniration  '.vhich  great  minds  ought 
to  inspire  ;  and  the  philosophy  of  Frenchmen  is  of  so  tran- 
quil and  unobtrusive  a  cast,  that  it  passes  current  with  the 
world,  rather  for  the  absence  of  feeling  than  for  its  mastery. 
But  to  the  view  of  observers  of  more  penetration,  there  is  in 
the  unaffected  cheerfulness  and  calm  serenity    of  such  cha- 

*  "  Not  a  domestic  cloud,  not  a  difference  of  opinion  concerning  the 
every-day  details  of  llie  family." 


72  THE  COUNT  DE  SEGUK. 

racters  as  Monsieur  de  Segur,  something  infinitely  exalted 
above  the  bullying  impassibility  of  the  ancient  Stoics,  their 
hard  morality,  and  wordy  boasting.  This  high-born  noble- 
man, statesman,  author,  and  courtier';  the  inheritor  of  a 
great  name,  the  once-possessor  of  vast  paternal  and  acquired 
wealth,  of  which  scarcely  any  thing  remains,  borne  down  by. 
domestic  misfortunes,  and  worn  by  painful  maladies,  exhi- 
bits, in  the  decline  of  his  life  and  fortunes,  the  same  grace 
and  cheerfulness,  tlie  same  wit  and  amiability,  which  in  tha 
plenitude  of  youth,, health,  and  worldly  grandeur,  had  charm- 
ed successive  sovereigns,  and  animated  circles  the  most  po- 
lished and  refined.  True  it  is,  that  of  all  countries,  France 
is  that  in  which  reverses  of  fortune  should  be  the  most  lightly 
felt,  because  there,  the  man  and  not  his  means  are  the  ob- 
jects  of  public  consideration  and  private  esteem :  but  even 
where  inequality  of  condition  is  least  perceptible,  and  where 
opinion  enters  for  nothing  in  the  privations  attendant  upon 
great  reverses,  enough  remains  to  task  all  the  energies  even 
of  superior  minds,  to  sustain  them  with  dignity  and  ease. 
How  frequently  are  the  feelings  pained,  and  the  imagination 
disappointed,  by  the  morosity,  the  complainings,  and  the 
egotism  of  the  declining  hours  of  men,  whose  intellectual 
energies  have  in  the  prime  of  life  illumined  the  understand- 
ing, or  wielded  the  destinies  of  mighty  nations  ?  With  such 
recollections  present  in  my  memory,  I  have,  in  the  modest 
apartments  of  the  Rue  Duphot,  and  in  the  presence  of  their 
highly-gifted  inhabitant,  more  than  once  pondered,  with  an 
admiration  not  unmixed  with  envy,  on  the  geniality  of  the 
French  temperament,  and  the  practical  philosophy  of  the 
French  character,  there  so  charmingly  iilusti'ated. 


I  'J3  ] 


ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

''  Lady  Morgan  despises  Racine  :  to  be  sure,  he  was  guiL 
ty  in  iier  eyes  of  the  atrocious  offence  of  piety ;  and  for 
this,  she  more  than  sneers  at  his  imbeciUty.  But  her  rage 
against  his  memory  is  carried  so  far,  that,  in  defiance  of  the 
unanimous  voice  of  France,  the  assent  of  all  Europe,  and  iri 
contempt  of  a  century  of  fame,  she  has  the  audacity  to  pro- 
nounv.e  him  no  poet." 

Quarterly  Review,   1817, 

I  DESPISE  Racine  because  he  was  pious  ! 

"  Ciel  !  que  de  vertus  votrs  me  failes  hajr!" 

I  judged  ilacinc  then,  as  I  do  now,  after  my  own  impres- 
sions :  I  preferred  Siiakspeare,  and  I  avowed  the  preference. 
I  thought  the  works  of  Racine,  whose  genius  I  never  dispul- 
ed,  belonged  to  his  age,  and  not  to  ours  ;  and  I  think  so  still. 
A  French  critic  of  some  tact  (to  use  a  phrase  of  his  own) 
was  of  my  opinion.  "  Bien  que  Racine  ait  accompli  des 
chefs-d'oeuvre  en  eux7n^mes"  said  Napoleon,  '^  il  y  a  r^pandu 
neanmohis  une  perpetuelle  fadeur,  mi  (ternel  a?nour,  et  son 
ton  doucereux,  son  jastidicux  entourage  ;  mais  ce  li'^tait  pas 
pr^cisement  safaute;  c'^tait  le  vice  et  les  moeurs  du  temps."* 
But,  with  respect  to  the  unanimous  voice  of  France,  I 
have  some  reason  to  think  that  it  is  now  with  me  ;  or  at  least 
that  it  soon  will  be,  at  the  rate  at  v/hich  opinion  is  changing 
in  this  particular. 

This  morning,  as  I  was  looking  over  the  "  ajjiches''  of  the 
theatre,  in  doubt  to  which  of  them  we  should  go,  (having, 
through  the  gallantry  of  new  friends  and  the  kindness  of 
old,  boxes  assigned  us  in  several,)  a  young  gentleman,  to 
whom  we  had  been  presented  the  |)revious  evening,  called 
^'  pour  f aire  ses  hommages.^''  There  was  something  of  an 
exalte  in  his  air,  in  his  open  shirt-collar,  black  head,  and  wild 

*  ''  Nolwithstandins;  that  Racine  has  composed  works  which  are 
chefs-d'oeu\'re  in  themselves,  yet  he  has  spread  through  them  a  perpe- 
tual feebleness,  an  eternal  love-making,  his  peculiar  |)uny  precise  ton, 
and  pomposity  of  circumstance.  This  is  not  so  much  his  fault  as  the 
vice  and  manners  of  the  times."— Lai  Cases.     Part  vii.  pase  197. 

Vol.  1.-7 


t4  ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

and  melancholy  look,  that  had  engaged  my  attention  the  night 
before  ;  and  this,  together  with  one  or  two  paradoxical  opi- 
nions which  I  heard  him  let  fall,  made  me  glad  to  see  him 
again  ;  for,  like  Madame  de  Sevigne,  I  hate  "  les  gens  qui 
ont  toujour s  raison." 

As  Ihave  too  little  time  left  to  waste  on  forms  and  cere- 
tnonies,  even  with  strangers,  I  cut  short  "  les  hommages"  and 
"  devoirs"  of  my  new  friend,  by  telling  him  he  should  chute 
for  me  the  theatre  to  which  I  should  go,  and  that  he  should 
have  a  place  in  a  box  if  he  liked  -  it,  to  reward  his  trouble. 
He  accepted  both  offers  with  eagerness  ;  and,  running  his 
eye  over  the  list  of  the  theatres  and  their  respective  perform- 
ances, I  saw  him  fillip  his  finger  and  shake  his  head  at  the 
Francais,  which  announced  a  tragedy  of  Racine's — I  think 
L^Iphigeflie. 

I  took  this  movement  for  an  epigram  levelled  at  my  pub- 
lished  opinions  on  the  god  of  French  idolatry  :  "  I  see,"  I 
said,  "  that  I  am  never  to  be  forgiven.  You  French  are 
good  literary  haters  ;  but  come,  I  will  go  this  evening  to  the 
Francais,  and  put  my  old  opinions  to  the  test  of  new  impres- 
sions. Every  thing  changes  in  this  world  ;  and  I,  who  slept 
over  the  monologues  of  Phedro  in  1816,  may,  in  1829,  re- 
main quite  awake,  even  during  an  eternal  speech  of  that  pro- 
ser  Ulysses,  who  has  lost  nothing  of  his  ancient  disposition  to 
loquacity  in  the  hands  of  the  French  poet  ;  so,  if  you  please, 
it  shall  be  the  Francais. 

"  Go  to  the  Francais,  if  /  please  !  /  sit  out  a  tragedy 
of  Racine's  !  Oh,  Miladi,  vous  plaisantez,  vous  rCy  penzez 
pas." 

The  alarmed,  imploring  look  with  which  this  was  said, 
with  hands  clasped,  and  eyes  uplifted,  astounded  me  ;  and  I 
remarked,  "then  you  are  of  the  same  heresy  as  myself;  and 
I  am  like  poor  Iphigenie,  who 

"  Voyaitpour  elle  Achille,  et  conlre  elle  I'armee." 

"  You  have  with  you  all  France,"  he  replied,  "  d  quelqii'ex- 
cepiion  pres.  Nobody  goes  to  the  Francais  when  Racine  is 
played  now  ;  or  the  few  who  go,  do  so  to  testify  their  disap- 
probation by  hissing,  as  was  the  case  with  the  Athalie  the 
other  night." 

I  really  lost  my  breath.  "  What,  not  go  to  the  Francais  ! 
hiss  Racine  !     Oh  !*this  is  a  mystification." 

"  Pardon  me,   madame,  I   am   serious.     You  may — you 


ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS.  75 

must  go  to  the  Francais,  but  not  when  Racine  is  played ; 
whose  pieces  are  only  given  in  the  intervals  of  our  great  his^ 
torical  dramas,  and  in  the  absence  of  our  divine  tragic  muse, 
who  is  now  in  the  provinces." 

"  Which  tragic  muse  ?"  I  asked  ;  "  Mademoiselle  George, 
or  Duchesnoir  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,  cela  est  pass^  comme  le  deluge — I  mean  Made- 
moiselle Mars,  the  pearl  of  pearls,  the  Melpomene  of  the 
age  !" 

-'  Mademoiselle  Mars  the  tragic  muse! — the  Melpomene  !'* 

"  Certainly  :  would  you  have  us  go  on  for  ever  with  the 

monotonous  declamations  of  the  Champmeles  and  the   Clai- 

rons  ?     for  the    last  century,  handed   down   traditionally  to 

their  successors." 

Silent  for  a  moment  from  doubt  and  surprise,  I  ventured  at 
length  to  ask,  "  If  Racine  is  out  of  fashion,  in  what  trage- 
dies does  Mademoiselle  Mars  play  ? — In  Voltaire's  ?" 

"  Voltaire !  hah !  c'est  un  roi  detron^  que  ce  hon  Vol- 
taire /"* 

I  was  now  perfectly  dumb-founded,  and  remained  silent, 
because  I  had  nothing  to  say  ;  and  yet  I  v/as  dying  to  laugh. 
"  Tenez,  ma  pauvre  Miladi,"  said  my  new-light  friend, 
amused  at  my  ignorance,  and  touched  by  my  embarrassment : 
"  When  you  were  in  France,  Corneille,  Racine,  and  Voltaire 
were  still  tolerated? — n^esl  ce  pas  ?" 

"  Tolerated  !"  I  repeated  petulantly  and  "  all  smarting 
with  my  wounds''  inflicted  by  the  literary  champions  of  an- 
cient  orthodoxy,  the  authors  of  some  ten  or  a  dozen  differ- 
ent "  lettres  a,  Miladi  Morgan."  "  Tolerated  ? — pardie  je  le 
crois  hien." 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "on  a  change  tout  cela;  we  still 
read  these  authors,  as  we  do  Euripides  and  ^Eschylus ;  but 
we  don't  any  longer  go  to  see  them  acted  ;  or  rather  hear 
them  declaimed  or  chaunted,  after  the  manner  of  church 
choristers." 

"  Then  what  do  you  go  to  hear  or  see  ?"  I  asked  with 
some  hesitation. 

"  Our  great  historic  dramas,  written  not  in  pompous  Alex, 
andrines,  but  in  prose,  the  style  of  truth,  the  language  of  life 
and  nature,  and  composed  boldly,  in  defiance  of  Aristotle 
and  Boileau.  Their  plot  may  run  to  any  number  of  acts, 
and  the  time  to  any  number  of  nights,  months,  or  years  ;  or 

*  "  Voliai  re  !  pooh  !  Le  is  a  dethroned  monarch  !" 


76  RO^IANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

if  the  author  pleases,  it  may  take  in  a  century,  or  a  millenni- 
um :  and  then,  lor  the  place,  the  .first  scene  may  be  laid  in 
Paris,  and  the  last  in  Kamschatka.  In  short,  France  has  re- 
covered her  literary  liberty,  and  makes  free  use  of  it." 

"  Oui  da  /"  I  rejoined,  a  little  bothered,  and  not  knowino- 
well  what  to  say,  but  still  looking  very  wise,  "  In  fact,  then, 
you  take  some  of  those  liberties,  that  you  used  to  laugh  at, 
in  our  poor  Shakspeare  ?" 

"  Your  j^oor  Shakspeare  !  j'our  divine,  immortal  Shak- 
speare,  the  idol  of  new  France  ! — you  must  see  him  played 
.iex'tuel'lement  at  the  Francais,  and  not  in  the  diffuse  and  fee- 
ble parodies  of  Ducis." 

"  Shakspeare  played  texliieUement  at  the  Francais  /"  I  ex- 
claimed — "  O,  par  exemple  /" 

"  Yes,  certainly.  Othello  is  now  in  preparation ;  and 
Hamlet  and  Macbeth  are  stock  pieces.  But  even  your 
Shakspeare  was  far  liom  the  truth,  the  great  truth,  that  the 
drama  should  represent  the  progress,  developement,  and  ac- 
complishment of  the  natural  and  moral  world,  without  Fefer- 
cnce  to  time  or  locality.  Unknown  to  himself,  his  mighty 
genius  was  mastered  by  the  fatal  prejudices  and  unnatural 
restrictions  of  the  j)erruques  of  antiquity.  Does  nature  un- 
fold  her  plots  in  five  acts?  or  confine  her  operations  to  three 
hours  by  the  parish  clock  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  Monsieur  ;  but  still " 

"  Mais,  mats,  2m  moment,  chere  Miladi.  The  drama  is 
one  great  illusion  of  the  senses,  founded  on  facts  admit- 
ted by  the  understanding,  and  presented  in  real  life,  past  or 
present.  When  you  give  yourself  up  to  believe  that  Talma 
was  Nero,  or  Lafont  Britannicus,  or  that  the  Rue  Richelieu  is 
the  palace  of  the  Caesars,  you  admit  all  that  at  first  appears  to 
outrage   possibihty.     Starting,  then,  from  that  point,  I  see  no 

absurdity  in  the  tragedy,   which   my  friend  Albert  de  S 

says  he  has  written  for  the  express  purpose  of  trying  how 
far  the  neglect  of  the  unities  may  be  carried.  The  title  and 
subject  of  this  piece  is  "  the  Creation,"  beginning  from 
Chaos  (and  what  scenery  and  machinery  it  will  admit  !)  and 
ending  with  the  French  revolution  ;  the  scene,  infinite  space  ; 
and  the  time,  according  to  the -Mosaic  account,  some  6,000 
years." 

"  And  the  protagonist,  Monsieur  ?  Surely  you  don't  mean 
to  revive  the  allegorical  personages  in  the  mysteries  of  the 
middle  ages  ?" 

"  Ah  ca  !  pour  le  proiagonistt,  c^est  le  diakle.     He    is   the 


ROMANTIC  rSTS  AND  CLASSICISTS.  77 

only  contemporaneous  person  in  the  universe  that  we  know 
of,  whom  in  these  days  of  cagoterie  we  can  venture  to  bring 
on  the  stage,  and  who  could  be  perpetually  before  the  scene, 
%.s  a  protagonist  should  be.  He  is  particularly  suited,  by 
our  received  ideas  of  his  cnergj'  and  restlessness,  for  the 
principal  character.  The  devil  of  the  German  patriarch's 
Taust  is,  after  all,  but  a  profligate  casuist  ;  and  the  high  po- 
etical tone  of  sublimity  of  Milton's  Satan  is  no  less  to  be 
avoided  in  a  delineation  that  has  truth  and  nature  for  its  in- 
spiration. In  short,  the  devil,  the  true  romantic  devil,  must 
speak,  as  the  devil  would  naturally  speak,  under  the  various 
circumstances  in  which  his  immortal  ambition  and  ceaseless 
malignity  may  place  him.  In  the  first  act,  he  should  assume 
the  tone  of  the  fiUen  hero,  which  would  by  no  means  be- 
come him  when  in  corporal  possession  of  a  Jewish  epileptic, 
and  bargaining  for  his  fis  aller  in  a  herd  of  swine.  Then 
again,  as  a  leader  of  the  army  of  St.  Dominick,  he  should 
have  a  fiercer  tone  of  bigotry  and  less  political  finesse 
than  as  a  privy  coimcillor  in  the  cabinet  of  the  Cardinal 
de  Richelieu.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  act,  as  a  guest  at  the 
table  of  Baron  Holbach,  he  may  even  be  witty  ;  while  as  a 
minister  of  police,  he  should  be  precisely  the  devil  of  the 
schoolmen,  leading  his  victim  into  temptation,  and  triumphing 
in  all  the  petty  artifices,  and  verbal  sophistries  of  a  bachelor 
of  the  Sorbonne.  But  as  the  march  of  intellect  advances, 
this  would  by  no  mc;  is  be  appropriate  ;  and  before  the  play 
is  over,  he  must  by  turns  imitate  the  patelinage  of  a  Jesuit  d 
robe  coitrle,  the  pleading  of  a  procureur  general,  the  splendid 
bile  of  a  deputy  of  the  cote  droit,  and  should  even  talk  poli- 
tical  economy  like  an  article  in  the  "  Globe."  But  the  au- 
thor shall  read  you  his  piece — "  La  Cn^ation  !  drame  Histo- 
riqiie  et  Romantique,  in  six  acts,  allowing  a  thousand  years 
to  each  act.      C'cstChomme  marquant  de  son  siecJe." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  remain  in  Paris  only  a  few  weeks, 
and  he  will  never  get  through  it  in  so  short  a  time.'' 

'"  Pardonnez  moi,  madame,  he  will  get  through  it  in  six 
nights — the  time  to  be  actually  occupied  by  the  perform, 
ance  ;  an  act  a  night,  to  be  distributed  among  the  ditr<!rent 
theatres  in  succession,  beginnmg  at  the  Francais  and  ending 
at  the  Ambigu." 

I  know  nothing  so  mortifying  as  the  doubt  whether  one  is 
or  is  not  the  subject  of  what  in  England  is  called  a  hoax,, 
and  in  France  a  mystification.  The  doubt  always  implies  ig- 
norance of  the  reigning  manners  of  the  hour,  whose  tone  o£ 

7* 


'T8  ROMANTICISTS  ATW  CLASSICISTg* 

ridicule  is  so  arbitrary.  All  that  my  young  exager^  bad  saidy 
might,  in  the  extraordinary  revolutions  of  taste,  be  true  ;  it 
might  equally  be  false — a  piece  of  malice  of  the  ultras,  to 
get  me  to  write  down  absurdities.  Such  a  machination  had* 
been  played  off  against  me  when  I  visited  France  in  1818  ; 
but  Denon  and  myself  descried  the  plot,  though  it  was  most 
ingeniously,  conducted  ;  and  the  mystifiers  themselves  were 
the  only  parties  mystified.  After  all,  the  startling  things 
said  by  my  romanticist,  were  but  admitted  truths  travestied. 
It  was  but  the  amusing  abuse  of  a  doctrine,  which  genius  of 
th'"  highest  order  has  practised,  and  the  coolest  critical  judg- 
ment upheld.  I  was  resolved,  therefore,  not  to  give  way  to. 
the  feeling  of  the  moment  (the  sin  of  my  sex  and  tempera* 
ment)  but  to  hear  all  opinions,  creeds,  and  parties,  before  I 
formed  an  opinion  for  m3'self :  so,  covering  my  irrepressible 
smiles,  by  taking  shelter  in  the  bouquet  of  hyacinths,  which 
my  gallant  new  acquaintance  had  just  presented  to  me,  I 
said  carelessly,  "  Well,  if  I  must  go  to  the  Francais,  when 
shall  it  be  ?" 

"  Excuse  me,  you  ore  to  go  to  the  Francais,  but  not  to- 
night. You  must  wait  for  a  few  days,  for  the  return  of  Ma- 
demoiselle Mars,  and  the  reprise  of  Henri  III.  In  the  sub- 
•lime  part  of  the  Duchess  of  Guise,  she  draws  more  tears 
from  her  audience,  thmi  were  ever  extorted  by  the  Clairons., 
or  Dumesnils,  with  their  Atiialies  and  the  Zaires.  This 
however  is  the  season  1k>r  les  jjetits  spectacles^  which  come  ia 
with  the  violets  and  'j}ucinths,  with  English  muslins  and 
spring  colours.  At  this  moment,  too,  they  happen  to  be  quite 
the  rage." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  I  exclaimed  with  joyous  sin- 
cerity, "  for  I  got  into  all  sorts  of  scrapes  by  confessing  my 
preference  for  these  charming  little  theatres,  so  truly  nation- 
al, and  so  adapted  to  your  old  gaiete  gauloise  ;  they  used  ta 
overflew,  when  I  was  last  in  Paris.  La  foiile  se  irouve  tou- 
jour s  oil  I  on  rit  davantage.'^* 

"  Lady  Morgan,  what  is  that  you  say  ?  Of  what  France 
are  you  talking — the  old  or  the  modern?" 

A  little  out  of  humour  at  the  pertinacity  of  my  inquisitor^ 
I  replied,  "why,  lam  like  NicoleirUhe  Bourgeois  Genlilhotn- 
me,  '  quand  je  dis  N,  je  dis  N;^  and  when  I  say  France,  I 
mean  France  !" 

^^  Eh,  Men.'  But  in  France,  such  as  it  now  is,  we  havet 
©eased  to  laugh.     Voild  noire  epigraphe." 

*  "The  multitude  always  flock  where  they  laugh  the  most  '' 


KOafANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS,  79 

"  What,  not  laugh  in  France  !" 

"  No,  indeed  ! — at  the  Francais,  perhaps  a  Utile  now  and 
then,  but  at  the  minor  theatres  we  do  nothing  but  cry ;  except 
•  when  we  are  carried  out  in  hysterics.'' 

"  Oh  !  then  you  are  jesting  after  all.  But  I  won't  be  rays- 
tified,  ril  judge  for  myself.  What  do  they  play  to-night  at 
the  Gaiete ;  its  very  name  is  inspiring?" 

"  La  Gaiete — voyons  !  ah  !  ca — '  The  Plague  at  Marseil- 
les.' " 

"  '  The  Plague  at  Marseilles,'  and  at  La  Gaiete-  ?  That 
certainly  does  not  sound  very  gay." 

"No;  it  is  the  most  heart-breaking  piece  that  ever  har- 
rowed the  feelings  of  an  audience.  The  plague  of  Boccac- 
cio is  broad  comedy  to  it.  How  I  envy  you  your  feelings  in 
seeing  '  The  Plague  of  Marseilles,'  for  the  first  time.  You 
will  see  every  symptom  of  that  terrible  infliction,  from  the 
first  livid  look  to  the  last  stage  of  decomposition.  Oui,  ma- 
dame,  vo^ts  verrez  des  corps  verddtres  en  monceaitx — les  morts 
jetis  par  la  fenelre  sur  la  scme.'''^  Your  hair  will  stand  on 
end,  your  blood  will  run  cold." 

"  It  does,  it  does.  If  this  is  the  popular  piece  of  the  Gai^ 
et^,  I  would  rather  not  go  :  but,  VAmhigu  comique  ?  Let  us 
go  there  !" 

"  Not  to-night.  You  must  go  there,  when  they  play  Nos- 
tradamus, where  you  will  have  the  martyrdom  of  a  saint,  to 
the  very  life.  But,  for  myself,  I  do  not  like  these  things  :  I 
prefer  the  pathetic  to  the  terrible.  I  like  the  feelings  to  be 
excited  by  a  more  legitimate  source  of  sympathy.  There  is 
a  little  piece  to  be  presented  shortl}',  that  will  delight  you  •. 
it  is  called  the  Poitrinaire.  Imagine  the  most  interesting  of 
beings  the  victim  of  consumption.  You  will  see  the  progress 
of  that  most  sentimental  disease  in  all  its  moral  and  physical 
characteristics." 

"  Your  authors,  then,  study  nature  in  the  Hotel  de  Dieu  7" 
I  said,  in  utter  amazement. 

"  Not  always,"  he  replied  seriously.  "  Sometimes  they 
pfo  to  CharentoQ.  A  friend  of  mine  brings  out  his  long  ex- 
pected  drame,  UEnrag^,]  in  September.  He  attended  a 
course  of  clinical  lectures,  on  purpose  to  catch  the  more  eva- 

*  "  You  will  see  heaps  of  putrescent  bodies  piled  on  the  stage — the 
dead  flung  from  the  windows." 

t  "  L'Enrage"  was  brought  out  at  the  Nonveaute.  The  hero  bites  his 
Hii-'tress,  or  soEjebody  else,  whose  death  forms  the  catastrophe  of  the 
piece. 


80  ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

nescent  traits  of  mental  alienation.  He  is  the  Broussais  of 
the  Drama.  You  see  we  no  longer  stud}^  nature  exchisively 
in  courts  ;  nor  like  Racine,  copy,  at  the  dictation  of  a  Boileau, 
some  ignorant  despot,  or  vainglorious  king.  In  short,  we 
have  done  with  the  old  school,  not  only  in  writing,  but  in  act- 
ing and  declamation  ;  and  the  monotony,  which  poor  Talma 
laboured  so  hard  to  get  rid  of,  that  at  last  ho  sunk  the  verses 
of  Racine  into  plain  prose." 

"  But  is  there  nothing  amusing  that  you  could  recommend 
for  this  e-vening?"  I  asked,  a  little  weary  of  this  nonsense  or 
mystification— I  knew  not  which,  "  Is  there  nothing  for 
Potier  or  Brunnet  to  make  one  die  laughing  ?" 

"  Oh  !  Potier  knows  better  than  to  make  you  laugh  now. 
He  goes  with  his  age  ;  and  is  much  more  successful  in  the 
deepest  pathetic  than  he  ever  was  in  his  risible.  But  you 
must  wait  for  the  new  tragedy  at  the  Port  St.  Martin,  by  one 
of  the  greatest  men  of  the  day,  or  indeed  of  any  times — the 
Plautus,  Terence,  Byron,  and  Moliere  united  ;  in  one  word, 
the  author  of  Marino  Faliero,  Casimir  Dclavigne." 

"  I  have  not  yet  read  any  of  Monsieur  Casimir  Delavigne's 
works." 

"  Comment  done,  madame  !  he  is  the  French  Byron,  and  he 
draws  his  inspiration  from  the  same  sources,  as  he  tells 
us  in  his  preface.  But  you  English,  I  perceive,  are  in  utter 
darkness  as  to  the  literature  o^  modern  France." 

"As  far  as  concerns  mere  belles  letf res  literature,  I  fear 
we  are.  We  have  some  adaptations  of  your  lighter  drama- 
tic pieces,  though  stripped  of  all  their  colouring  and  na- 
tionality ;  and  we  devour  your  M&moires ;  more  especially 
all  that  concerns  the  life  and  times  uf  Napoleon." 

"The  Life  and  Times  of  Napoleon  !  perruque!  Have 
you  not,  then,  read  the  immortal  products  of  the  romantic 
school?  our  '■poesies  classico-roinantiques.'  and  our  '■Ro- 
mans romantiqaes  V  Have  you  not  devoured  '  Bug  Jargal,' 
or  '  Hans  d'Iceland,'  or  '  Jean  Sboger,'  or  '  Jacko,'  or 
'  Olga,' or   'L'Ipsiboe,'   or " 

He  paused  for  breath,  and  I  acknowledged  my  ignorance, 
and  my  surprise  at  names,  in  sound  at  least  so  little  romantic,, 
according  to  my  ideas  of  romance.  "  Bug  Jarga),"  I  said, 
"  for  instance  ;  what  does  that  m.ean  ?" 

"  It  means  the  name  of  the  hero,  madame  ;  not  an  hera 
of  the  old  school,  with  a  Brutus  head  and  a  Grecian  nose,  but 
an  hero  with  a  woolly  heud  rnd  an  ebony  complexion.  He 
is  an  African  slave,  endowed  with  every  great  quality  that 


•■  ROMANTICISTS  AND  Cf  ASSICISTS,  81 

ennobles  humatjity;  TmI!   of  the  most  refined  sentiments  of 
honour,  friendship,  and  the  most  chivalrous  gallantry." 

I  shook  my  head,  and  observed,  that  "  according  to  physi- 
ologists, the  Afr';an  organization  does  not  lend  itself  to  such 
qualities  ;  and  Gail,  who  was  a  perfect  romanticist  in  his 
way,  would  probably  have  missed  the  protuberances  which 
wait  upon  so  high  a  moral  developement.  But  without  insist- 
ing upon  vVhat  I  do  not  profess  .to  understand,  I  may  be  al- 
lowed to  say,  that  slavery  is  a  bad  school  for  delicacy  of 
sentiment.  The  most  enlightened  man  will,  I  believe,  gene- 
rally be  found  the  best.     The  rest.is  all  melodram.'' 

"  How  common-place  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Your  idea  of 
virtue,  then,  must  necessarily  include  a  fair  face,  and  an  edu- 
cation in  the  great  world.  Well,  we  have  such  an  hero  for 
you,  in  the  son-in-law  of  Bug's  master,  who  refuses  life  at 
the  price  of  correcting  the  bad  spelling  of  a  rebel  general. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  1" 

"  VVhy,  that  sometimes  les  gens  cfesprit  sont  Mtes  ;  how- 
ever,  it  is  true  that  we  novel-writers  are  often  terribly  pushed 
to  meet  the  taste  of  our  readers  for  new  and  striking  situa- 
{ions  ;  and  /,  in  particular,  have,  perhaps,  less  right  than 
others  to  criticise  such  con\'entional  absurdities,  which,  by 
the  bye,  are  not  always  incompatible  with  great  merit."* 

"  But  have  you  not  read  any  of  our  modern  poets  ?  Have 
you  seen  our  epics  :  '  La  Caroleide'  and  the  '  Ismalie,'  of 
Viscount  d'Arlincourt  ;  or  the  '  Siciliennes,'  or  the  '  Messe- 
niennes,'  or  the  '  Pariah,'  of  Gasimer  de  la  Vigne  ;  or,  above 
all,  and  beyond  all,   '  Les  Meditations,^  of  La  Martine  ?" 

"  You  must  give  me  a  list  of  these  works,"  I  said  ;  "  and 
I  will  do  the  best  I  can  :  but,  to  speak  frankly,  I  believe  the 
age  of  all  high-flown  poetry,  epic  or  elegiac,  is  nearly  over  ; 
- — at  least,  it  is  over  with  me.  Nothing  under  a  Byron  could 
now  lure  me  into  a  canto  ;  and  as  for  '  Meditations,"  poeti- 
cal  or  prose,  )fou  must  excuse  mo.  FVom  Harvey's  among 
the  Tombs,  to  my  o\vn  last  night,  during  the  melancholy  vi- 
gils  produced  by  hot  rooms  and  cold  ices,  I  hold  all  medita- 
lions  in  absolute  aversion.  You  look  astonished  ;  but  this  is 
my  creed.  I  am  either  too  old  or  too  young,  too  hlasee  or 
too  vivacious,  to  set  down  to  such  sentimental  vapours  of  va- 
nity or  indigestion.     I  must  have  the  essential  in  all  things  ; 

*  To  which  general  remark  Bug  .largal  is  by  no  means  an  exception. 
It  is  wriiten  with  vivacity,  and  many  of  the  scenes  have  a  dramatic 
verity  about  them  which  leads  to  the  suspicion  that  they  were  copied 
from  the  life, 


82  KOMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

the  trii^h,  and  nothing  but  the  truth  ;  as  novel,  as  spirited,  and 
as  startling  as  you  ^yill,  but  still  the  truth,  and  not  the  dream, 
even  of  genius." 

"  But,  Miladi,  icoutez,  etpuisjugez  ;  let  me  repeat  to  you, 
for  instance,  a  few  lines  from  '  La  Tristesse'  of  De  la  Mar- 
tine  ;"  and  he  began  in  a  most  lugubrious  tone,  and  with  a 
most  displaced  emphasis. 

"  De  mes  joiirs  palissants  le  flambeau  se  consume, 
II  s'eteint  par  d^gres  au  souffle  de  malheur  ; 
Ou,  s'il  jette  par  fois  une  faible  lueur, 
C'est  quand  un  souvenir  dans  mon  ?ein  le  rallume. 
Je  re  s^als,  si  lesdieux  me  pennettroient  enfin, 
D'achever  ici  bas  ma  terrible  jonrnee  ; 
Mon  horizon  se  borne,  et  mon  ceil  incertain 
Ose  I'ttendre  a  peine  audela  d'une  ann§e, 
iViais,  s'il  faut  perir  aut  matin, 
S'il  faut  sur  unc  terre  au  bonheur  destin^e, 
Laisser  cchapper  de  ma  main, 
Cette  coup  que  le  destin."  &c.  &c.  &c.* 

"  Mais  voild  assez,  Miladi — that  is  enough  to  convince 
you  of  the  excellence  of  the  Medications." 

"  It  at  least  convinces  me  of  the  misery  of  the  author,"  I 
replied  ;  "  poor  man  !  I  take  it  for  granted  that  he  is  sinking 
under  some  life-wearing  disease,  or  that  he  is  the  most  unfor- 
tunate of  men,  or  the  most  unhealthy." 

"  Unfortunate  !  unhealthy  !  he  is  the  most  fortunate, 
healthy,  successful,  and  happiest  of  men  and  authors.  He 
is  the  poet  d  la  mode,  the  Adonis  of  CJiauss^e  d'Antin,  the 
apostle  of  the  faubourg;  half  cfassic,  half  romantic,  but 
quite  the  vogue  ;  he  has  the  suffrages  of  all  parties  ;  and  the 
more  happy  he  is,  the  more  wretched  ;  as  he  himself  ex- 
presses it,  most  poetically  and  truly — 

"  Mais  jusque  dans  le  sein  des  beures  fortun^es 
Je  nes^ais  quelle  vols  que  j'entends  retentir, 
Me  poursnit,  et  vient  m'avertir, 
Q,ue  le  bonheur  s'enfuit  sur  I'aisle  des  ann6^s."t 

*  "  The  taper  of  life  consumes,  and  is  extinguished  by  degrees 
by  the  breath  of  misfortune.  Or  if  sometimes  it  casts  a  feeble 
light,  it  is  when  a  fond  recollection  rekindles  it  in  my  breast.  1  know 
not  whether  the  gods  will  permit  me  to  finish  the  terrible  day  of  my  ex- 
istence— my  horizon  narrows,  and  my  unce-iaio  eye  scarce  dares  to 
glance  beyond  a  year.  But  if  I  must  perish  in  the  morning  of  my  life  ; 
if  appearing  on  an  earth  destined  for  happiness,  I  must  let  the  cup 
escape  from  my  hand,"  &c. 

t  "  But  in  my  happiest  hours  I  hear  an  unknown  and  terrible  Toice 
pronouucing — that  felicity  flies  on  the  wings  of  time." 


ROMANTICISTS    AND    CLASSICISTS.  83 

"But  I  do  not  understand,"  I  said,  "  how  a  man  can  be 
happy  in  prose,  and  wretched  in  verse." 

"Nor  1  neither,  replied  Mr.  De ,  "but  I  believe  it  is 

so  ;  for  it  is  a  dogma  of  our  religion  romantique :  but  if  you 
want  real,  deep,  heart-rending  wretchedness,  take  the  story 
of  our  charming  poet,  the  interesting  and  unfortunate  Joseph 
de  Lorme.     Joseph  De  Lornie  was  born  in  the  beginning  of 
the  present  century,  near  Amiens,  the  only  child  of  a  widowed 
mother.     His  exquisite  sensibility,  his  lofty  genius,  his  high 
aspirations,  contrasted  with  his  lowly  position,  rendered  him, 
from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb,  at  odds  with  fortune.  An  instinc- 
tive desire  for  the   military  distinction  which  at  that  epoch 
covered  France  with  glory  ;  an  early  and   indomitable  pas. 
sion  for  a  young  and  beautiful  person,  whose  rank  was  supe- 
rior  to  his  own  ;  a  vocation  to  a  religious  life,  that  in  other 
times  would  have  placed  him  on  the  lists  of  canonization,  or 
of  martyrdom;  and  above  all,  a  longing  for  literary  immorta- 
lity, nourished  in  the  deep  solitudes  of  the  forest — were  the 
elements  of  the  lofty  passions  which  assailed  him.     Days, 
weeks,  years  were  consumed  in  reveries  that  placed  him 
above  humanity,  and  unfitted  him  for  all  the  coarser  avoca- 
tions of  hfe,  until   he  went  to   Paris  to  pursue  his  studies, 
where  his  success  was  brilliant  beyond  example.     His  virgin 
soul  sufficed  for  every  thing.     He  devoted  himself  to  science 
with  an  energy  that  soon  made  him  feel  the  vanity,  the  illu- 
sion of  the  imagination.     He  broke  his  lyre,  and  philosophy 
alone  engaged  him.    It  was  then  that  he  abandoned  the  piety 
of  his  youth  for  the  fatal  principles  of  Diderot  and  D'Holbach  ; 
but  the  pure  morality  of  D'Alembert  regulated  his  life  ;  and 
he  would  have  deemed  it  an  affair  of  conscience  to  have  put 
his  foot  into  the  precincts  of  a  church.     Joseph  then  adopted 
the  principles  of  a  stoic  philosopher,  combined  with  the  ten- 
derest  philanthropy.     At  this  moment  he  might  have  united 
himself  to  the  idol  of  his  affections  ;   but  he  felt  that  he  was 
not  made   for  one  and  for  one  only.      His  somewhat  savage 
philanthropy  feared  to  imprison  itself  for  ever  within  the  circle 
of  affections  too  limited  for  his  nature — dans  un  egoisme  en 
deux  per sonnes*     Besides,  he  had  formed  to  himself  an  idea 
of  marriage,  in  which  idle  forms  went  for  nothing.     He  re- 
quired a  Mademoiselle  L'Espinasse,  a  Lescaut,  or  a  Lodoiska. 
Abhorring  poetry,  which  still  assailed  him  like  a  demon,  the 
very  names  of  Byron  and  La  Martine  seemed  hateful  to  him. 

*  "  lo  an  egotism  in  two  persons,"  u  e.  a  lawful  marriage. 


34  ROMANTICISTS    A^'D    CLASSICISTS. 

His  struggles  were  terrible  !  He  has  registered  theiri  in 
those  gloomy  pages  which  he  dated  from  the  middle  of  the 
night,  like  the  prayers  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Kirke  White.  His 
health,  too,  was  undermined  ;  and  the  idea  of  a  mortal  infirm 
mity  added  to  all  his  other  agonies.  He  never  went  out 
but  to  pursue  his  medical  studies.  He  saw  his  friends  only 
by  accident.  He  smiled  as  he  passed  them,  '  et  ses  amis  pre- 
noient  pour  un  sourire  de  paix  et  de  contentement  ce  qui  n'etait 
que  le  sourire  doux  et  gracieux  de  la  doideur.'*  In  the  midst 
of  these  torments,  Joseph  pursued  his  profession.  His  ex- 
traordinary genius  discovered  itself  to  some  distinguished  pro- 
fessional men;  they  advised  him  to  attend  the  hospitals  for 
some  years,  and  promised  him  the  most  brilliant  success.  He 
rallied  all  the  forces  of  his  nature  and  his'reason,  and  resign*, 
ed  himself  to  the  humiliating  probation.  He  might  have  been 
at  the  head  of  his  profession,  rich,  honoured,  happy;  but  the 
fatality  which  pursued  him,  turned  all  to  evil.  He  soon  had 
reason  to  suspect  the  views  of  these  nevr  friends.  They  had 
been  too  kind,  not  to  be  interested  and  false  !  Joseph  might 
have  submitted  to  be  protected  ;  7nais  nan  exploits  !  His  no- 
ble character  revolted  at  the  indignity  ;  and  a  few  months  of 
combat  between  feeling  and  pride  terminated  his  professional 
career.  He  gave  himself  up,  as  his  biographer  expresses  it, 
to  the  study  of  '  tous  les  romans,'  while  his  mortal  melancholy 
came  forth  in  those  unrivalled  poems,  which,  since  his  deathj 
have  delighted  and  afflicted  the  world  ;  for,  while  living,  he 
would  not  consent  to  expose  the  wounds  of  his  ulcerated 
heart.  At  last,  he  retired  to  a  poor  little  village  near  Meu- 
don,  where  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  composition  of  works 
which  dissolve  the  soul  in  tears,  or  burn  it  with  passion.  Poor, 
neglected,  worn-out,  he  died  last  October,  of  a  broken  heart, 
and  a  complicated  pulmonary  consumption.  You  weep, 
ch^re  miladi !" 

"  'Tis  very  foolish,"  I  said,  "  but  the  fact  is,  that  the  life 
and  death  of  this  unfortunate  and  very  foolish  young  man, 
recalls  those  of  one  who,  when  in  infancy,  was  the  adopted 
of  my  father's  house,  the  unfortunate  Thomas  De.rmody,  the 
poet ;  but  you  know  as  little,  I  suppose,  of  our  modern  poets, 
as  I  do  of  yours." 

"  Que  voiis  ites  bonne  /"  said  my  good-natured  friend, 
mingling  his  tears   with  mine.     "  I  am   very  sorry  to  have 

*  "  And  his  friends  mistook  for  a  smile  of  peace  and  contentment 
what  was  only  a  graceful  resignation  to  misfortune." 


ROMANTICISTS   AND  CLASSICISTS.  85 

called  up  such  melancholy  recollections.  But,  dry  up  your 
tears,  et  consolez  voiis.  In  all  that  I  have  said  there  is  not 
one  word  of  truth." 

"  No  ?—  K^t  a  word  of  truth,  IMonsieur  ?" 

"  No,  to  be  sure.  The  Life  of  Joseph  de  Lorme  is  a  mere 
poetical  fiction." 

"  He  was  not,  then,  the  miserable  afflicted  writer  yoa  paint 
him?" 

*'  Nothing  like  it,"  said  he,  laughing  heartily.  "  There 
never  was  any  such  person  at  all.  His  life,  poems,  and 
thoughts,  so  full  of  genius  and  melancholy,  are  written  by  a 
charming  young  man,  who  is  the  very  reverse  of  all  this  ;  by 
the  living,  lively,  happy  St.  Beuve,  a  most  ingenious,  clever, 
healthy,  and  prosperous  gentleman.  But  with  all  his  poeti- 
cal verte,  he  knev/  that  he  could  not,  under  such  circum- 
stances, command  success.  There  was  not,  he  was  aware, 
a  single  Romantic  bookseller  who  would  venture  on  the 
works  of  one  who  was  in  good  circumstances  and  good 
health,  gay,  contented,  and  not  labouring  under  a  '  comph- 
Gated  p;ilmonary  consumption.'  He  acted  accordingly,  and 
placed  his  reputation  under  the  aegis  of  this  homme  de  circon- 
stance,  the  fanciful  and  fictitious  Joseph  de  Lorme." 

I  answered  mipatiently,  "  you  will  never  persuade  me  that 
such  nonsense  as  this  is  the  rage  in  witty,  philosophical,  en- 
iightpued  France." 

"  Nonsense  !  how  can  you  call  that  nonsense  which  you 
have  not  read  ?  But,  tell  me  now.  Lady  Morgan,  if  you 
wanted  to  drown  yourself,  how  would  you  set  about  it  ?" 

"  How  would  I  drown  myself?  throw  myself  into  the 
water,  I  suppose,'' 

"  Throw  yourself  into  the  water  ;  that's  the  pont  aux  dnes, 
any  one  could  do  that ;  mais  ^couiez,  'tis  from  '  Le  Creux  de 
la  ValUe:  " 

"  Pour  qui  veut  se  noyer,  la  place  est  bien  choisie, 
On  n'auiait  qua  venir,  un  jour  de  fantasia, 
A  cacher  ses  hiibits  au  pied  de  ce  bouleau, 
Et,  coranie  pour  un  bain,  k  descendre  dans  I'eciu. 
Non  pas  en  furieux,  la  tele  la  premiere  ; 
Mais  s'asseoir;  regarder;  d'un  rayon  de  lumiere, 
Dans  le  feuillage  et  I'eau  suivre  ie  long  reflet, 
Puis,  quand  on  sentirail  ses  esprits  au  complef, 
Qu'on  aurail  froid,  alors,  sans  plus  trainer  la  fete, 
Pour  ne  plus  la  lever,  plonger,  avant  la  tete."* 

*  "  Should  you  wish  in  the  waters  a  cold  bed  to  find, 
The  place  where  we  stand  is  just  made  to  your  miud. 
Vol.  i 8 


86  ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

"  Is  this  not  beautiful,  original,  sublime  ?  A  writer  of  the 
old  school  would  have  plunged  his  hero  head  foremost,  like  a 
vulgar  suicide  of  the  Pont  Neuf.  If  Rousseau,  your  Kirke 
"White,  or  our  Millevoye*  were  to  drown  themselves,  would 
not  they  thus  have  died  ?  It  makes  one  quite  long  to  follow 
the  example." 

An  irrepressible  fit  of  laughter  seized  me  ;  and  my  young 
exalte  somewhat  disconcerted  by  a  merrimentwhich,  if  it  had 
not  been  inevitable,  would  certainly  have  been  very  rude, 
took  his  hat,  saying,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  I  see.  Lady 
Morgan,  that  I  have  been  mistaken.  You  have  long  been 
deemed  in  France  a  champion  of  romanticism.  I  was  a 
boy  when  your  work  on  this  country  came  out;  and  I  took 
my  first  colour  of  literary  opinion  from  your  '  France.' 
Whatever  popularity  you  enjoy  as  a.  writer  here,  you  owe  it 
to  this  belief.  To  what  circumstance  I  may  attribute  your 
change,  I  know  not ;  but  I  cannot  compliment  you  on  the  re- 
trogradation  :  I  have  the  honour  to  offer  you  my  respects." 

He  was  about  to  retire,  when,  with  as  much  gravity  as  I 
could  assume,  I  assured  him  that  I  had  changed  in  nothing. 
That  I  thought  the  disputes  of  the  Romanticists  and  Classi- 
cists in  Italy  a  mere  war  of  words,  and  that  I  was  quite  igno- 
rant that  it  had  found  its  way  into  France  ;  but  that  if  my 
old  opinions  on  Racine,  and  on  the  inapplication  of  the  old 
French  drama  to  modern  times,  were  romanticism,  a  good  ro. 
manticist  I  should  most  probably  continue  to  live  and  die. 

Choose  your  day  and  set  oflf.     Ere  you  sink  in  the  billow> 

Paci£  your  clothes  in  a  bundle  snug  under  yon  willow. 

Souse  not  head  over  ears,  as  if  conquered  by  wrath» 

But  go,  step  by  step,  as  you'd  enter  a  bath  : 

Sit  down, — look  aboui  you, — examine  the  ray, 

Which  pours  in,  through  the  trees,  in  a  long  line  of  day  : 

And  when  you're  in  order,  prime  up  to  the  mark, 

(That  is  half  killed  with  cold),  lake  '  the  leap  in  the  dark.' 

Don't  keep  yourself  waiting,  but,  down  with  your  head,  I 

And  be  sure  you  don't  lift  it  again,  till  your  dead." 

To  render  the  peculiar  beauties  of  this  choice  specimen  is  far  beyond 
my  powers  ;  but,  bating  the  slip-shod  measure,  which  is  all  my  own,  the 
translation  is  tolerably  literal. 

*  The  Kirke  White  of  the  romantic  school.  He  died  of  a  consump* 
tioa  ia  1816,  having  predicted  the  event  in  the  following  lines  : 

"  Le  poet  chantail,  quand  salyre  fidele 
S'echappa  tout-a-coup  de  sa  debile  main  ; 
Sa  Liiipe  mourut ;  et,  comme  elle, 
11  s'eteignit  ie  lendemain." 


ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS.  87 

Somewhat  softened,  he  hesitated  on  the  threshold,  dropped 
his  hat,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  servant  announced 
Monsieur  de .  The  sound  seemed  to  act  hke  electrici- 
ty. My  romanticist  again  seized  his  hat,  changed  colour, 
and,  looking  reproachfully,  said  in  a  whisper — 

"  Ah  !  Lady  Morgan,  you  profess  romanticism,  and  yet 
you  receive  Monsieur  de !" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do  ;  but  he  is  one  of  my  old  acquaintancess 
of  1816,  and  a  sensible,  agreeable  man.  I  am  really  glad 
to  see  him.     Stay,  and  I  will  present  you  to  him." 

"Present  me  ! — no,  madame,  God  defend  me  from  that! — 
Present  me  to  one  of  the  conscript  fathers  of  classicism,  the 
high-priest  of  the  Perruques.  I  would  cross  half  Paris  to 
avoid  him.     Adieu,  madame." 

Monsieur   de  entered  ;  my  exalte  drew   up.     They 

glanced  cold  looks  at  each  other,  then  bowed  formally,  and 
the  romanticist  retired,  roughing  his  wild  locks,  and  panting 
like  an  hero  of  tragedy. 

"  Voild  un  des  Pleiades  du  romanticism  !"  said  Monsieur 
de  — — ,  with  a  sneer  ;  and  taking  his  place  :  after  the  usu- 
al compliments  of  the  morning,  he  entered  at  once  upon  the 
subject  of  my  new  acquaintance  and  his  sect,  by  observing, 
somewhat  sarcastically,  "  So,  I  find  you  as  I  left  you,  sur- 
rounded  by  romanticists.  You  are  still,  I  see,  their  chieftain- 
ess  and  guide." 

"  Why,  Monsieur  de ,  I  have  this  moment  been  accus-. 

edof  being  a  classicist." 

"  You  a  classicist  ! — ha  !  ha  !  And  since  when  ?  After 
Madame  de  Stael,  no  one  has  done  more  to  mislead  the  lite- 
rary taste  of  our  young  men  than  yourself.  Your  '  France' 
came  out  at  an  unlucky  time,  when  the  public,  like  Moliere's, 
cried, 

"  II  nous  faut  de  nouveau,  ne  fut-il  plus  au  monde  ;"* 

and  I  will  not  flatter  you — this  only  produced  you  some  ad- 
mirers— but  it  arrayed  against  you  ail  France  ;  at  least,  la 
France  classique.  But  I  have  brought  you  the  works  of  one 
who  will  put  you  on  a  better  track,  with  respect  to  our  litera- 
ture— the  works  of  Viennet." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  I  said,  "  you  have  anticipated  my  wishes. 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  read  any  thing  of  Monsieur  V^iennet ; 
first,  because  his  writings  have  been   recommended  me  by  a 

*  "  We  must  have  something  newj  though  it  were  not  in  the  world." 


88  ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

fair  friend,  on  whose  taste  and  judgment  (if  not  blinded  by 
friendship)  I  can  depend  ;'*-  and  next,  because  I  admire  the 
character  and  honest  principles  of  Monsieur  Viennet.  One 
always  sees  him  at  his  post,  on  the  right  side  of  the  cliarle, 
if  not  of  the  chambers,  always  in  the  initiative  in  defence  of 
liberty.  I  have  not  forgotten  his  honest  efforts  in  favour  of 
the  Greeks,  and  his  indignation  at  the  affair  of  Parga." 

I  fluttered  over  the  leaves  of  the  volume,  as  I  spoke,  and 
read  in  the  title  page,  "  CEiiores  cle  J.  P.  Viennet,  E'pttres 
'diverses.  Dialogues  des  Marts,  t^c."  This  looked  awful !  and 
after  skimming  through  a  few  lines  of  the  Epitre  a,  un  Des- 
ceww^jf  I  saw  that  it  was  a  Dodsley's  Collection  sort  of  pro- 
duction, like  one  of  the  "  Attend,  my  friend,"  didactics  of 
Ceorge  the  Second's  day  ;^  and  I  continued  carelessly  turn- 
ing the  pages  till  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  own  name, 
wedged  in  between  those  of  Stendhal  and  Schlegel.  I  stop- 
ped ;  while  my  classicist  sat  chuckling  beside  me,  and  mut- 
tering, "  Old,  Old  !  il  vous  taquine  joliment,  chere  Miladi—' 
lisez,  lisez."     I  read  aloud. 

*'  Dormez  vous  sur  le  Pinde  !  e(  faut  il  que  j'expllque 
Ce  qu'on  nomine  aiijonrd'hiii  le  genre  romantique? 
Vous  in'embarrassez  fort;  carje  dois  convenir, 
Glue  ses  plus  grands  fauteurs  n'out  pu  le  dcfinir. 
Depuis  quinze  ou  vlngt  ans  que  la  France  t'admire 

*  Ma  lame  Thayer,  of  whom  Monsieur  Duval  has  so  justly  said,  "  Fi 
est  peu  de  ^eus  de  leltres  et  d' artistes  qui  ne  connaissent  et  n'appr6cient  ses  ta- 
lents nombreiix,  el  son  aimalilc  esprit.'"  Madame  T.  is  also  a  landscape 
painter,  and  her  works  are  distinguished  by  a  truth  of  colouring  rarely 
attaiaed  even  by  professional  artists. 

t  "  ^  an  Desceuvri  de  sur  tes  Charmes  VElude. 

"  Q,ue  fais  tu,  cher  Raymond,  de  tes  longues  j.oiiraees  % 
Te  verrai-je  sans  fruit  consumanl  tes  annees, 
De  Boulogne  a  Cobleiitz  consumant  tes  loisirs, 
Dissiper  ta  jeunesse  en  steriles  plaisirs? 
A  tes  vceux,  diras  tu,  la  fortune  est  propieei, 
Et  te  permet  de  vivre  au  gros  de  ton  caprice ; 
Mais  les  bals,  les  concerts,  les  festins,  ou  tu  cours 
Ton  boguey,  tes  chevaux,  tes  frivules  amours, 
Les  spectacles,  les  jeux,  remplissent  ils  ta  vie? 
L'habitude  en  ton  ^me  en  etouffe  I'envie. 
Ces  vains  amusemenssout  bien  lot  epuises 
Pareils  a  ces  hochets  par  I'enfanoe  brisJs. 
Ton  cQiur,  ton  souvenir  n'en  garde  pas  la  trace, 
Un  moment  les  produit,  un  moment  les  efface,"  he.  &e. 

t  Monsieur  Viennet  has,  however,  produced  some  f.olitical  satires  of 
the  highest  merit.  Since  I  wrote  the  text  fo  which  this  note  is  append- 
ed, I  have  heard  that  he  has  recently  written  one  under  ihft  title  of  the 
"  Dey  of  Algiers,"  which  is  of  the  most  piquant  causticity. 


ROHANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS.  89 

On  ne  sait  ce  qu'il  est,  ni  ce  qu'il  veut  nous  dire. 

Stendhal,  Morgau,  Schlcgel — ne  voiis  effiayez  pas, 

Muses,  ce  sont  des  noras  tameux  daiis  nos  climats, 

Chefs  de  Propagande,  ardens  missionnaires, 

Parlant  de  roinantiqiie  et  piechant  ses  mysteres. 

II  n'est  pas  un  Anglais,  mi  Suisse,  un  Allemand, 

Q,ul  n'eprouve  a  lenrs  noras,  nn  saint  fremissement. 

Q,uand  on  sait  I'Esclavon,  Ton  comprend  leiirsysteme; 

Et,  s'ils  etaient  daccord,  je  Tentendrais  moi-meme ; 

Mais  un  adepte  enfin  m'ayant  endoctrine, 

Je  vais  dire  a  peu  pres  ce  (jue  j'ai  devine,"  &c.  &c. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  there  is  poetry,  if  you  will.  It  is 
Boileau  redivivus." 

"  And  do  you  call  this  poetry  ?" 

"  What,  then,  do  you  call  it,  Lady  Morgan  ?" 

"  I  call  it  a  page  of  criticism,  written  as  if  from  a  bout 
rime,  with  nothing  of  poetry  about  but  '  explique'  and  '  roman- 
tiqiie,''  '  systeme^  and  '  moi-m^me.^  " 

"  Que  vous  Hes  difficile,  madame  !  If  this  is  not  poetry, 
how  do  you  define  poetry  ?" 

"  Lord  !  you  put  me  in  a  twitter  !  /  define  what  poetry  is  ! 
I  never  thought  what  it  was,  in  my  life, — I  have  felt  it.  But 
I  suppose  poetry  is — is  passion, — passion  of  some  sort  or 
other — that  exaltation  of  thought  and  perception,  which  one 
calls  imaginatioa — combinations  of  strong  expressions  bor- 
rowed from  strong  feelings  .  .  que  sais  je  ?" 

"  But  there  are  different  species  of  poetry,  madame. 
There  is  a  class  of  it,  in  which  verse  is  made  use  of,  to  en- 
noble subjects,  that  in  their  own  nature  are  neither  fanciful 
nor  imaginative.  Such  is  the  didactic,  in  which  Boileau 
was  supereminent  and  Vieunet  excels. '-' 

"  I  do  not  see,  however,  wh}'  Monsieur  Viennet  should 
give  himself  the  trouble  to  ennoble  a  common  place  criticism, 
that  is  prosaic   enough   for   any  review,  English  or  French. 

Suppose  I  asked  you,  Monsieur  de ,  what  is  the  defini- 

tion  of  romanticism  ;  would  you  not  reply,  off  handy  pretty 
much  m  the  words  of  this  author,  '  To  explain  to  you  iu' the 
present  day,  what  the  romantic  is,  would  be  rather  an  em- 
barrassing task ;  for  its  greatest  advocates  have  not  yet  been 
able  to  define  it  ;  and,  though  all  France  have  admired,  for 
the  last  fifteen  or  twenty  yeirs,  one  neither  knows  what  it  is, 
nor  what  it  means.  Stendhal,  Morgan,  Schlegel.  Oh,  5'^e 
muses  .  .  .  (only  think  of  diggmg  up  those  old  ladies,  in  the 
nineteenth  century)  ;  these  are  the  names  now  famous  in  our 
climes.     They  are  the  chiefs  of  the  Propaganda,  the  ardent 

8* 


90  KOMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

missionaries  who  praise  romanticism  and  preach  its  myste- 
ries. There  is  not  an  English,  Swiss,  or  German  reader 
who  does  not  thrill  at  the  sacred  sound  of  their  names  V  Now 
why  should  you,  my  dear  sir,  take  the  pains  to  tag  this  sim- 
ple expose,  this  most  literal  answer,  with  '  admire^  and  '  dire/ 
'  endoctrind'  and  ^fai  devine  V  " 

"  But,  madame,  Boileau  himself  would  not  stand  this  test  j 
yet  you  will  not  venture  to  say  that  the  author  of '  The  Art 
of  Poetry,'  is  not  a  poet  ?" 

"  Oh  !  God  forbid  !  What,  get  outlawed  again  for  my  fool- 
ish opinions  on  French  poetry  ;  pardie,  not  I.     Alt  I  shall  say 
is,  that  Boileau  was  the  head  of  the  romanticists  of  his  day,    ■ 
to  whose  castigation  of  the  classicists,  servile  imitators  of  a 
precedmg  time,  posterity  stands  much  indebted." 

"  Boileau  a  romanticist  ? — that  is  too  much — c''est  a  povffer 

de  rive.'"''     And  Monsieur  de did  "jpow^^er"  to  some 

purpose. 

"  il/a  honne  3Iiladi,"  said  he,  wiping  his  eyes,  "  Cor- 
neille,  Racine,  and  Voltaire  were  also,  I  suppose,  of  your 
sect's" 

"  To  be  sure,  they  were  all  romanticists  ;  that  is,  all  re- 
formers of  the  classic  literature  of  their  own  times." 

"  Voltaire  a  reformer  of  ihe   authors  of  the  Cid  and  the 
the  Phedre  !  Voltaire,  who  adored    the  grand  Corneille,  and    ' 
worshipped  the  divine  Racine  !'' 

"  He  worshipped  and  adored  theii-  ^^v'nius  ;  but  he  aban- 
doned their  models,  when  he  produced  De  Courci  and  Maho- 
met. Vo'taire  was  Uvjt  the  ibunder  of  romanticism,  but  he 
was  a  zealous  apostle." 

Monsieur  de shook  his    head.     He  said^  "  Romanti-  ^ 

cism  is  of  a  mwch  more  modern  date  ;  it  began  in  the  salons 
of  Mudau.e  de  Stael  ;  it  was,  I  grieve  to  say,  helped  on  by  '* 
Talma,  and  has  been  assisted  by  the  deserters  of  the  Comedi^ 
Froncaise  from  the  or!flamme  of  the  national  literature,  by 
the  mistaken  cah  ulations  of  the  commissaire  royal,  Monsieur 
Taylor,  and  uy  ihe  mulnplication  of  vaudevilles.  It  has 
been  urged  on  by  all  the  servile  journalists,  and  by  the  ambiti- 
ousvanity  of  the  young  writers  in  the  '  Globe  ;'  but  above  all  by 
Monsieur  Scribe,  who  counts  his  productions  by  the  hundred." 

"  Here  are  a  great  many  abettors,  certainly,  of  the  new 
heresy,"  I  replied.  "  But,  I  assure  you.  Monsieur  de 
,  romanticism  has  a  much  remoter  origin.  It  first  shew- 
ed itself  in  the  days  of  your  Charles  the  Sixth,  when  the 
romanticists,  called   le   theatre  des   confrere^   de  la  jiassion^ 


BOMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS.  91 

made  head  against  the  melancholy  mysteries  enacted  at  the 
corners  of  streets,  by  substituting,  for  tlie  crucifixion,  the 
acts  of  the  apostles.  They  were,  in  their  turn,  superseded  by 
other  romanticists  '  les  clercs  de  la  basoche,'  who  carried  the 
public  vvilh  them,  by  their  amusing  '  farces,  folies,  et  mora- 
lity's ;'  which,  instead  of  the  Apostles,  had  the  ridicules  of 
society  for  their  subject.  A  new  school,  however,  founded 
by  les  enfans  de  sans  souci,  directed  by  a  prince  des  sots,  in 
its  turn  won  all  suffrages.  The  national  theatre  of  i\\efreres 
de  la  passion  was  left  for  the  precursor  of  Racine,  Michel; 
and  deserted  for  the  '  mere  solle,''  the  great  romantic  drama 
of  its  day,  which  still  maintains  its  place  on  the  English 
stage,  by  the  name  of  '  Mother  Goose.'  Then  came  Jodelle, 
the  Corneille  of  the  sixteenth  century,  whose  tragedy  of 
Cleopatre,  the  first  of  its  kind,  was  thought  to  have  fixed  the 
French  language  ;  but  it  did  not.  In  spite  of  the  support  it 
received  from  the  classicists  of  the  succeeding  reign,  the  ro- 
manticists  of  Henry  the  Fourth's  day  superseded  it ;  with 
the  assistance  of  that  Scribe  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
Alexander  Hardi,  who  in  the  course  of  five  hundred  plays 
(called  farces)  brought  a  style  of  comedy  into  fashion,  of 
which  my  friend  PoHchinelle  is,  in  these  degenerate  times, 
the  last  support.  Hardi  at  length  also  became  perritque  ; 
when  the  Italian  hovjfes  (first  introduced  by  Marie  de  Me- 
dicis)  gave  the  French  farceur  his  coup  de  grace.  The 
drama  a  soggetto,  as  we  find  it  in  the  theatre  du  Ghirardi,  be- 
came a  rage  ;  and  it  required  an  edict  de  par  le  roi  to  be 
launched  by  the  despotic  pedantry  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  to 
force  the  French  people  to  give  up  laughing  at  Harlequin  and 
Mezzetin,  and  to  yawn  at  the  theatre  in  the  Palais  Royal, 
where  the  solemnities  of  the  Spanish  and  Austrian  muses 
made  war  against  truth  and  nature  ;  solemnities  which  only 
began  to  please,  through  the  powerful  genius  of  Racine  and 
Moliere." 

"  Stop  there,"  at  length  interrupted  Monsieur  de ,  who 

had  hitherto  listened  to  me  with  all  the  polite  patience  of  a 
Frenchman  :  "  every  thing  must  have  its  solstice  ;  every 
country  must  have  its  Augustan  age,  its  classic  epoch  of  re- 
finement,  when  its  language  is  fixed.  That,  in  our  country, 
was  the  age  of  Racine  ;  and  France  will  never  submit,  while 
it  has  an  academy  to  direct  the  public  taste,  to  abandon  the 
rules  then  laid  down,  for  the  purpose  of  adopting  the  tra- 
gedy of  Schiller  and  of  Shakspeare,  with  their  dramatis  pei. 
sonee, 


92  ROMANTICISTS 'and  CLASSICISTS. 

"  '  Enfants  au  premier  acta,  et  barbons  au  derni^re.' 

"  It  will  never  endure  to  see  a  Sir  Macduff  coming  on  the 
stage  with  the  head  of  Sir  Macbeth  in  his  hand.  For  my 
part,  it  is  now  forty  years,  that  I  have  admired  Iphigenia, 
Phedra,  Semiramis,  Britannicus,  the  Cid,  Merope,  and  Zaire  ; 
and  I  cannot  now  learn  to  reject  these  chefs  d'ceuvre  of  hu- 
man  genius,  at  the  bidding  of  your  romanticists.  I  abide  by 
the  rules,  by  which  these  immortal  productions  were  written  ; 
and  I  believe  that  the  genius  of  the  nation  will  never  tran- 
scend them  with  impunity." 

"  But,  Monsieur,  what  we  call  genius,  depends  much  upon 
the  epoch  in  which  it  appears.  There  are  ages  made  for 
great  celebrities  ;  which,  however,  are  neither  the  happiest, 
nor  the  wisest.  Homer  sang  to  barbarians  ;  Corneille 
and  Racine  wrote  when  bigotry  and  despotism,  and  popular 
ignorance  were  at  their  highest  ;  when  political  science  had 
no  existence,  when  the  useful  arts  were  in  their  infancy,  and 
when  the  domestic  accommodations  of  a  royal  palace  were 
inferior  to  those  of  a  modern  farm-house  :  in  short,  when  the 
Descartes  and  the  Csesalpinuses,  with  all  their  genius  and 
learning,  knew  less  than  a  student  of  the  law-schools,  or  a 
pupil  of  Cuvier,  in  the  present  day.  The  pretension  of  such 
writers  to  fix  a  national  language  are  wholly  unfounded.  A 
thousand  terms  of  science,  art,  philosophy,  social  life  and  its 
ridicules,  have  been  invented  since  Racine  wrote,  to  express 
new  facts  and  new  feelings,  new  wants  and  new  enjoyments. 
Words  have  been  borrowed  from  foreign  nations  ;  and  the 
nervous  and  naive  expressions  of  your  exquisite  annalists,  and 
other  early  writers,  have  been  revived,  though  they  are  re- 
jected by  the  frivolous  fastidiousness  x)f  your  academy,  which 
is  a  fit  engine  of  slavish  literature,  invented  by  a  despotic  go- 
vernment to  set  bounds  to  thought,  and  check  the  progress  of 
of  opinion.  Time,  however,  sets  all  things  right,  demerit . 
Marot  is  now  preferred  to  the  '  Guirlande  de  Jvlie  ,•'  and 
Joinville  and  Brantome  are  in  universal  esteem,  while  the 
royal  historiographers  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  are  wholly 
forgotten." 

"  Je  vous  enfais  mon  com.'pliment,  madame.  I  abandon  you 
this  '  troupe  grossidre,'  as  Boileau  calls  them,  and  their  jargon, 
which  has  become  the  dictionnaire  acad^mique  of  your  ro- 
manticists. But  I  trust  there  is  still  taste  enough  left  in 
France,  to  reduce  la  muse  vagabonde  de  la  Seine  au  r^gle  dih 


nOMAXTICISTS  AKD  CLASSICISTS.  93 

devoir,*  and  to  protect  us  at  once  from  the  barbarism  of  their 
dialects,  and  from  llie  absurdities  of  your  Shakspeare  and  the 
apostles  of  the  new  liglit.  Our  sti  Te  will  never  tolerate  a 
lord  Falstaff,  a  chief  justice  presenting  a  prisoner  to  the 
king,  and  addressing  inm  thus  :  '  Le  voild,  sire^  je  vous  le 
livre,  et  je  supplie  v6tre  grace  de  faire  enr(^gistrer  ce  fait 
d'armes,  parmi  les  autres  de  cefle  journce,  ouje  le  ferai  mettre 
dans  une  ballade  avec  mon  portrait  a  la  ttle.^  "f 

"  But,  Monsieur  de  — — ,  Falstaff'  is  not  a  chief  justice, 
nor  a  lord  ;  but  an  old  humourist,  a  wit,  a  jester,  a  profligate, 
a  boasting,  coward,  something  between  the  first  minister  of 
France  during  the  classic  reign  of  the  Regent,  and  D'Au- 
bigne,  the  reckless  friend  of  Henry  the  Fouriii." 

"  Even  so,  comedy  has  its  bounds  ;  and  Boileau  has  said, 
*  ilfaut  que  les  adeurs  hadinent  noblement.''  ":{: 

"  True,  but  Boileau's  works,  like  the  holy  writ,  afford 
texts  for  all  faiths.     He  has  elsewhere  said, 

"  Clue  la  nature  done  soil  voire  etude  unique, 
Auteurs,  qui  prctendez  aux  nommes  du  comique."^ 

"  In  comedy,  yes  :  but  would  the  delicatesse  francaise  ever 
endure  in  a  tragedy  such  a  phrase  as  "  the  early  village 
cock  ;"  or,  "  tell  your  mistress,  when  my  posset  is  ready,  to 
strike  upon  the  bell." 

"French  delicacy  has  already  endured  something  like  the 
latter  in  Corneille.  When  the  hero  asks  the  time  of  night, 
the  reply  is, 

"La  tour  de  St.  Marc,  pr6s  de  cette  demeure* 
A,  comme  vous  passez,  sonne  la  douxieme  heure." 

"Ah!  arretez  vous  la,  madame  !  Je  vous  ai  attrap^.  Ob- 
serve— Corneille  says,  '  la  douxieme  heure.^  Observe  that — 
remark  that;  he  does  not  say  ^ minuit.'  Your  Shakspeare 
and  our  romanticists  would  have  said  '  midnight  tout  honne- 
ment.*  No,  no,  you  will  never  palm  the  monstrous  farces 
and  barbarous  language  of  Shakspeare,  (as  Voltaire  has  call- 
ed them,)  on  the  public  taste,  in  spite  of  all  the  muHres  cla- 
queurs,\\  of  your  darling  romanticism." 

*  ''  To  reduce  the  erring  muse  of  the  Seine  to  a  sense  of  duty." 

t  Falstaff 's  speech  on  rendering  Sir  John  Colvile. — Henry  iV.  Part 
2d.  Act  4.  Scene  3d. 

t  '•  The  actors  should  jest  nobly." 

^  "  Let  nature  be  your  only  study,  if  you  would  pretend  to  success  in 
comedy." 

jj  Hireling  applauders  in  the  theatres. 


94  ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

"  Nor  will  you,  my  dear  sir,  ever  persuade  the  present  ge.< 
neration  to  go  back  to  1690,  and  to  make 

"  '  Les  elegies  amoureuses,  que  Ton  norame  tragedies,' 

the  standards  of  their  literature." 

"  The  tragedies  of  Racine  amatory  elegies? — you  do  not 
understand  our  language — voild  le  fait,  madame." 

"  But  Voltaire  did,  and  if  he  did  not  apply  this  phrase  ex- 
pressedly  to  Racine,  he  did  to  the  school  of  his  ill-timed  imi- 
tators,  whose  godt  frdaU  et  ef^min^,  he  strove  to  put  down 
by  such  plays  as  Mahomet,  Merope,  and  Adelaide  de  Gues- 
clin.  He  could  not  consent  to  make  Caesar  undertake  a  voy- 
age to  Egypt,  to  see  'unereine  adorable,'  and  make  Anthony 
rhyme  to  the  sentiment,  by  asseverating  that  '  elle  est  incom,' 
parable.'  " 

"  Ma  chire  Miladi,  it  is  easier  to  laugh,  than  to  reason ; 
but  ridicule  is  no  test  of  truth." 

"  Why  not  ?  ridentem  dicere  verum  quid  vetat  ?  You  see  I 
can  be  a  classic  too  upon  occasion,  as  a  certain  personage 
quotes  scripture  ;  who,  by  the  bye,  is  himself  quite  a  roman- 
tic." 

"  11  en  est  bien  digne,  I  make  you  a  present  of  him  with  all 
my  heart." 

"  But  you  will  confess  he  is  a  good  dramatic  subject,  as 
Goethe  has  handled  him.     You  have  seen  Faust?" 

"  No,  madam  ;  not  only  have  I  never  seen  that  German 
rhapsody  played,  (as  my  friend  Du  Val  calls  it,)  but  I  have 
never  gone  to  the  Francais,  since  its  boards  were  polluted  by 
the  barbarisms  of  Henri  HI.,  and  the  other  extravaganzas  of 
the  romantic  school,  of  which  Goethe  is  the  patriarch." 

"  But  why  has  the  Francais  submitted  to  such  pollution  ?" 

"  What  would  you  have,  madam  ?  the  French  drama  touch- 
es to  its  fall.  Even  the  actors,  the  successors  of  Baron  and 
Lekain  have  lent  themselves  to  the  heresy  of  the  age,  and 
given  up  the  altars  of  Corneille  and  Racine  to  the  worship  of 
the  golden  calf  of  romanticism." 

"  The  actors  are  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  I  suppose  ;  and 
are  looking  to  their  own  interests.  They  prefer  living  like 
princes  on  the  prose  of  Monsieur  Dumas,  to  starving  on  the 
noble  verse  of  Racine  ;  in  this,,  they  do  but  go  with  their  age 
and  their  public." 

"  Their  interests  ! — they  are  destroying  their  interests,  for 
a  paltry  vogue  of  a  moment.     In  adopting  a  false  style,  they 


EOJIANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS.  95 

give  up  their  ancient  stock  pieces.  When  once  they  have 
abandoned  the  rules,  they  can  never  bring  an  audience  back 
to  the  good  taste,  which  centuries  of  their  restrictions  had 
inspired.  To  turn  the  Francais  into  a  '  theatre  du  genre,'  is 
to  abandon  a  route  which  it  has  followed  for  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  with  success  ;  and  it  will  produce  a  complete 
downfall  of  the  classical  drama." 

"  It  has  fallen,  my  dear  sir  ;  the  blow  is  struck.  The 
empty  benches  when  the  old  plays  are  performed,  and  the 
crowds  which  flock  when  they  give  Henri  III.,  are  true  ba- 
rometers of  public  taste  :  but  your  theatre  is  still  the  great 
national  theatre.  When  France  was  royal  and  Aristotelian, 
and  obedient  to  the  dictates  of  your  academy,  the  Francais 
was  filled  by  the  representations  of  Athalie  and  Alzire  ;  and 
now  that  it  is  constitutional,  and  emancipated  from  its  litera- 
ry, as  from  its  political  thraldom,  the  talent  of  the  nation  is 
devoted  to  serving  the  interests  of  the  people  ;  and  it  illus- 
trates the  evils  of  despotism  by  the  representation  of  such 
characters  as  Henri  III.  and  the  Due  de  Guise.  It  is  not 
that  Monsieur  Dumas  is  superior  to  Racine,  or  even  equal  to 
him  ;  but  that  he  writes  in  coincidence  with  the  wants,  the 
feehngs,  and  opinions  of  his  age,  as  Racine  did  by  his  ;  the 
secret  of  the  success  of  both.  Racine  was  the  greater  geni- 
us ;  but  Dumas  is  the  honester  man.  The  first  wrote  to  flatter 
the  great,  whose  dependant  and  slave  he  lived  and  died.  The 
latter  writes  to  benefit  the  mass,  and  is  only  their  fellow  citi- 
zen. Both  have  laboured  in  their  vocation  ;  and  the  error  is 
to  judge  them  by  the  same  rule." 

"  What  an  epigramme,  Miladi,  against  the  literature  of  our 
days  !"  exclaimed  my  classicist,  triumphantly  ;  and  taking  up 
the  "  Charles  II."of  Du  Val,  which  lay  on  the  table,  he  read 
from  its  preface  a  description  of  the  theatre  immediately  be- 
fore the  revolution. 

"  The  comedie  Francaise  was,  in  1789,  an  e"stablishment  alto- 
gether royal.  The  superior  talents  of  the  artists  who  were  its 
glory,  inspired  a  lively  mterest  in  the  educated  public  to  which 
they  addressed  themselves.  The  first  appearance  of  an  act- 
or, of  a  new  piece,  a  stage-anecdote,  or  a  little  scandal,  was 
sufllicient  to  occupy  the  high  society  of  Paris,  which  was  al- 
ways more  or  less  excited  to  enthusiasm,  about  some  favour- 
ite actress  or  some  fashionable  play.  At  this  epoch,  all  the 
boxes  were  let  by  the  year  to  the  court  and  to  the  great  finan- 
ciers. Among  the  upper  classes  it  would  have  been  mauvais 
ton  in  a  woman  of  quality  not  to  have  been  able  to  say — '  I 
shall  expect  you  to-night  in  my  box.' 


96  BOMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS. 

"  The  pit  was  composed  of  young  men,  who  came  to  Paris 
to  follow  their  studies  ;  and  who,  knowing  by  heart  the  re- 
markable passages  of  Racine  and  Corneille,  went  to  the 
play  to  judge  the  actors  in  pieces  which  they  had  learned  to 
admire  m  their  infancy.  If  they  were  sometimes  noisy  and 
severe,  they  more  commonly  carried  to  the  representaiioQ 
all  that  enthusiasm  which  belongs  to  the  national  character — 
an  enthusiasm  that  was  rapidly  communicated  to  the  boxes, 
and  conferred  on  the  representations  of  that  day  a  warmth 
which  had  nothing  factitious  about  it,  but  was  very  different 
from  the  calculated  applause  of  the  hireling  puffers  of  our 
times,  whom  the  public  take  good  care  to  leave  to  their  owti 
operations.  As  I  have  said,  the  pit  was  occupied  exclusive- 
ly by  these  educated  young  men,  whose  earliest  pursuits  had 
been  the  study  of  the  helles  lettres,  and  who  were  not  igno- 
rant of  any  of  the  beauties  of  the  national  theatre.  Their 
good  taste  was  maintained  by  the  literary  journals  at  that 
time,  edited  by  the  La  Harpes,  the  Champforts,  and  the 
Marmontels  ;  and  they  brought  to  the  scene  an  enlightened 
rigour  which,  in  the  end,  was  of  decided  advantage  to' good 
actors  and  good  writers.  Besides  the  pit,  there  was  the  or- 
chestra occupied  by  the  older  amateurs,  who  still  entertained 
the  same  interest  for  the  drama  which  had  shed  such  a  charm 
on  their  past  youth.  When  worn  out  with  business,  and  re- 
tired from  the  world,  they  came  back  to  their  early  illusions, 
and  the  smallest  theatrical  event  became  with  them  a  serious 
affair.  After  the  play  was  over,  they  joined  the  men  of  let- 
ters assembled  in  the  salon  (Jes  foyers  int&rieurs).  There,  un- 
der the  excitement  of  a  new  piece,  or  of  an  old  one  well  re- 
presented, they  talked  with  a  passion  not  always  exempt  from 
epigram.  Sometimes  the  actor  or  author  received  from  thetn 
an  indirect  criticism,  or  a  useful  lesson  ;  and  if  in  these  pi- 
quant conversations  a  witticism  escaped  from  one  of  .the  in- 
terlocutors, it  was  carried  immediately  to  twenty  different 
supper  tables,  and  was  repeated  the  next  day  in  all  the  bril- 
liant circles  of  Paris. 

"  It  was  impossible,  then,  that  an  art  which  was  the  de- 
light of  high  society  and  of  the  educated  youth,  should  not 
make  a  most  rapid  progress,"  &c.  &;c.  «fec. 

Monsieur  de paused,  and  looked  triumphantly;  and 

I  exclaimed,  "  What  an  epigram  against  the  age  and  the  lite- 
rature of  2/oi<r  days  !  What  a  public  !  What  a  corrupt  and  idle 
state  of  society,  when  youth  and  age,  the  lowly  and  the  great, 
placed  their  happiness  in  the  representations  and  the  intrigues 


ROMANTICISTS  AND  CLASSICISTS.  97 

oi"  a  theatre  !  Such  a  description  in  itself  justifies  the  revo- 
lution :  the  aristocracy  exclusively  occupied  with  the  green 
room  ;  the  students  giving  «p  their  time  and  intellects  to  the- 
atrical  composition,  and  surrendering  their  judgment  and  in- 
dependence to  the  keeping  of  such  critics  as  La  Harpe  and 
Marmontel ;  and  the  smallest  theatrical  event  a  principal  af- 
fair to  the  whole  town  !  Oh  !  ye  Chambers  of  Peers  and 
Deputies,  ye  students  in  the  schools  of  Law  and  Medicine, 
ye  pupils  of  the  Polytechnic,  ye  followers  of  the  classes  of 
Cuvier  and  Cousin,  ye  ardent  professors  of  the  several  arts 
and  sciences,  and  of  literature,  ye  honest,  energetic,  and 
manly  youths  of  modern  France,  what  a  contrast  do  ye  afford  ? 
Raise  your  hearts  in  thanksgiving,  rally  round  the  oriflammo 
of  your  regeneration,  and  guard  it  well.  Continue  your  zeal- 
ous pursuit  of  knowledge.  Give  your  days  to  the  study  and 
to  the  defence  of  your  rights  :  and  at  night,  when  you  repair 
to  the  theatre,  be  it  to  recreate  your  over-worked  minds  and 
exhausted  spirits,  and  not  to  waste  your  abilities  on  a  subject 
which  ought  only  to  be  the  amusement  of  a  well-constituted 
society." 

"Your  apostrophe  maybe  very  eloquent,"  said  my  classi- 
cist, impatiently ;  "  but  allow  me  to  observe " 

"  Another  time,  another  time — let  us  now  talk  of  old  friends," 
I  said  hastily,  and  something  weary  of  a  verbal  wax-fare, 
which  must  terminate  in  each  party  retaining  his  own  opi- 
nion. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  new  visitors  were  ushered 
in,  and  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  room  was 
filled  with  a  miscellaneous  circle  of  men  of  fashion  and  of 
literature,  artists,  and  professors  of  every  shade  of  opinion  on 
the  prevailing  topic  of  the  day.  My  classicist  made  his  bow 
and  retired  ;  and  I  followed  to  the  ante-room  to  give  my  old 
friend  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  and  an  "  aiif  revoir"  at  a 
new  tragedy  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  I  leave  you  in  the  midst  of 
a  literary  congress,  in  which,  as  in  other  congresses,  no  two 
persons  have  the  same  interests :  while  each  is  bent  exclu* 
sively  on  pursuing  his  own." 

"So  much  the  better,"  I  replied;  "  we  shall  then  have  no 
sect,  and  consequently  no  intolerance." 

"  You  will  have  nifoi,  ni  lot.'' 

With  this  bitter  denunciation,  my  friend  took  his  leave,  and 
I  returned  to  laugh  and  talk  nonsense  with  my  fresh  arrivals. 
**  If  I  could  but  divest  myself,"  as  Horace  Walpole  says,  "  of 

Vol.  L— 9 


98  MODERN   UTEKATUEE. 

my  wicked  and  unphilosophic  bent  to  laughing,  I  should  do 
A'ery  well ;"  though  what  better  can  one  do  with  a  w'orld 
which  is  not  good  enough  to  esteem,  and  yet  is  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  hating,  than  to  laugh  at  it :  of  all  its  follies,,  the 
serious  are  by  far  the  most  ridiculous. 


^  MODERN  LITERATURE. 

While  romanticism  is  ascribed  to  the  influence  of  a  coun- 
try, a  sect,  a  party,  or  a  person  —  while  its  nativity  has  been 
assigned  to  England,  to  Italy,  to  Germany,  and  to  France — 
and  its  parentage  to  Shakspeare,  Visconti,  Schiller,  Madame 
de  Stael,  and  Dr.  Johnson  (!) — it  is,  in  fact,  the  produce  of 
no  one  country  or  apostle.  Romanticism  is  a  manifestation 
of  intellect,  a  form  of  literature  peculiar  to  the  population 
which  took  possession  of  Europe  on  the  decline  of  the  Ro- 
man empire,  and  has  subsisted  from  the  earliest  periods  of 
their  recorded  existence.  On  the  revival  of  letters  in  the 
twelfth  century,  a  system  of  religion,  morals,  government, 
and  habits,  incidental  to  other  regions  and  races  than  those 
of  the  antique  world,  called  for  other  forms  of  thought  and 
expression  than  those  which  reigned  among  the  descendants 
of  Virgil  and  Horace ;  and  even  in  the  classic  regions  of 
Italy,  modified,  where  it  did  not  wholly  supersede  the  con- 
ventional tastes  derived  from  the  literature  of  Greece. 

Although  romanticism,  as  a  tei'm  applied  to  a  literary  sect, 
is  of  modern  date,  the  characteristics  to  which  it  is  affixed 
are  as  old  as  the  institutions  which  originated  them.  It  came 
forth  from  the  northern  forests,  rude  and  barbarous  as  the 
people  to  whom  it  belonged  ;  and,  like  them,  it  overran  the 
polished  feebleness  and  elegant  corruption  which  no  longer 
served  the  interests  or  reflected  the  feelings  of  a  new-model- 
led society.  Wherever  freedom  waved  her  oriflamme,  there 
it  fixed  its  standard.  It  flourished  in  the  free  states  of  Italy, 
supported  successively  by  Dante,  Boccaccio,  Ariosto,  and 
^asso.  It  rallied  its  forces  in  the  fields  of  Runnimede,  and 
marched,  under  the  authority  of  Magna  Charta,  with  Chau- 
cer, Spenser,  Shakspeare,  and  Milton.  It  did  not  disdain  the 
rude  halls  of  the  bad,  bold,  feudatories  of  France,  whose  re- 
sistance to  individual  absolutism  was  a  faint  image  of  free- 


MODERN  LITERATURE.  99 

dom ;  and,  becoming  the  inspiration  of  her  chroniclers,  hu. 
mourists,  and  early  poets,  it  produced  the  literature  of  the 
Froissarts,  the  Rabelais',  and  the  Marots  of  the  middle  ages. 
Modified  in  its  forms  by  the  iniluence  of  Arabian  literature, 
it  took  possession  of  Spain,  during  the  spirit-stirring  strug- 
gles for  independence,  previous  to  the  expulsion  of  the 
Moors  ;  and  in  its  native  soil  of  Germany  it  has  slo'-vly  de- 
veloped itself  in  form  and  elegance,  under  the  influence  of 
the  reformation,  with  whose  leading  principle  of  self-judg- 
ment and  self-reliance  it  is  strictly  identified. 

When  liberty  fell  in  Italy  benealh  the  power  of  the  empire, 
the  pope,  and  the  commercial  aristocracy,  when  it  was  thrown 
into  abeyance  under  the  lawless  Stuarts  of  England,  and 
when  it  lay  gasping  and  mangled  on  the  wheel,  or  groaning 
in  the  dungeons  of  the  Ba?*ile  and  Vincennes,  under  the 
despotic  Bourbons,  then  returned  the  unquestioned  sway  of 
classic  absolutism  in  letters.  A  new  Pindus  and  Parnassus 
were  opened  in  the  Louvre  and  Versailles  ;  the  muses 
ranged  themselves  under  the  banners  of  the  academy,  and 
Apollo  was  restored  in  the  persons,  first  of  the  cardinal  mi- 
nister, and  afterwards  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth. 

This  connexion  between  romanticism  and  political  liberty, 
fanciful  as  at  first  sight  it  may  appear,  is  not  difficult  to  ex- 
plainf  Literature,  like  all  the  other  productions  of  the  hu- 
man species,  is  the  creature  of  their  wants  ;  but  its  de- 
velopemeni  can  only  be  proportionate  to  those  wants,  and 
accordant  with  the  wishes  and  feelings  of  the  people,  where 
their  actions  and  thoughts  are  unrestrained  and  free. 

In  the  several  centres  of  civilization,  produced  by  the  di- 
vision of  Europe  into  isolated  and  independent  nations,  sepa- 
rate ybc«  were  established,  in  which  the  arts,  sciences,  and 
literature  were  cultivated,  with  a  success  which  was  modified 
by  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  each.  At  the  first  esta- 
blishment of  these  nations,  almost  evei'y  trace  of  the  ancient 
classical  models  was  lost  ;  and  the  first  efforts  of  each,  in 
literature,  were  guided  exclusively  by  such  lights  as  indi- 
vidual genius  struck  out ;  when  suddenly  the  discovery  of 
Greek  and  Roman  manuscripts,  and  the  exile  of  the  Greek 
literati  of  Asia  Minor,  brought  the  population  of  Europe  ac- 
quaihted  with  a  poetry,  a  philosophy,  and  a  style  of  compo- 
sition, so  much  more  elegant,  polished,  and  elaborated,  than 
their  own,  as  very  naturally  gave  a  new  current  to  their 
ideas,  anti  misled  them  into  a  flat  and  unreflecting  imitation. 

The  beauties  of  the  ancient  writers  were,  however,  more 


lOO  MODERN  LITEEATURE. 

especially  calculated  to  please  the  taste  and  captivate  the 
imagination  of  the  upper  classes — as  the  sources  from  which 
they  were  obtained  were  more  especially  within  the  reach  of 
the  powerful  and  the  opulent.  Lut  on  all  classes  the  influ- 
ence was  exotic,  and  its  operation  was  opposed  by  the  whole 
mass  of  native  feelings,  habits,  and  sentiments.  In  those 
oommunities  were  freedom  had  previously  existed,  where  the 
people  had  been  accustomed  to  a  greater  political  and  com- 
mercial activity,  had  developed  a  larger  circle  of  ideas,  and 
had  more  successfully  cultivated  their  mother  language,  ths 
the  sum  of  opposing  forces  to  the  pure  acceptation  of  the 
new  canons  of  criticism  must  have  been  more  considerable 
and  effective.  The  genius  of  such  a  people  must  have  been 
less  favourable  to  a  servile  imitation,  as  their  tastes  must 
have  been  less  likely  to  approve  of  such  models,  than  those 
of  a  community,  where  the  many  were  accustomed  to  obey, 
and  the  few,  alone,  who  had  leisure  for  study,  or  occasion  to 
write,  were  already  lapped  in  a  precocious  refinement  and 
morbid  delicacy. 

In  proportion  to  the  mental  activitj-  of  the  several  nations, 
at  the  epoch  of  the  revival  of  ancient  literature,  was  the  do- 
minion Mhich  northern  ideas  maintained,  and  the  resistance 
they  afforded  to  an  implicit  adoption  of  classic  rules  of  com-- 
position,  and  classic  models  of  thought  and  writing.  In  those 
communities,  also,  in  which  the  greater  number  of  positive 
interests  were  brought  into  debate,  where  political  rights 
were  to  be  defended,  religious  doctrines  disputed,  or  com- 
mercial and  manufacturing  arts  promoted  and  practised,  there 
existed  a  greater  necessity  for  addressing  all  classes,  and  for 
giving  a  preference  to  those  forms,  which  were  most  univer- 
sally intelligible.  In  the  despotic  states,  on  the  contrary, 
where  mind  was  stagnant,  and  power  fell  heav}'  upon  intel- 
lect, an  obsolete  and  unpractical  circle  of  ideas  opened 
the  only  field  in  which  genius  could  move  with  a  compara- 
tive freedom  and  ease  :  while  the  ruling  authorities,  feeling 
their  jealousies  appeased  and  their  security  strengthened  by 
the  adoption  of  an  aristocratic  literature,  soon  learried  to  fa- 
vour and  encourage,  as  a  point  of  policy,  this  peculiar  mode 
of  occupying  and  chaining  the  intellects  of  their  subjects.* 

*  The  favour  with  which  classic  forms  were  accepted  by  the  courts 
and  aristocratic  corps  of  Southern  Europe,  was,  in  the  first  instance,  no 
doubt,  a  matter  of  pure  taste;  nor  is  it  intended  to  infer,  that  the  pre- 
ference given  to  these  forms  by  the  Richelieus  and  the  Medici,  their 
predecessors,  was  altogether  a  systematic  and  deHberate  attack  uposa 


MODERN  LITERATURE.  101 

On  the  revival  of  letters  in  France,  the  political  struggles 
between  the  aristocracy  and  the  throne  were  favourable  to 
the  intellectual  independence  of  literature  ;  and  the  remote- 
ness of  the  French  capital  from  Italy,  the  then  centre  of 
classical  enthusiasm,  left  the  few  original  geniuses  who  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene,  less  shackled  by  conventional  notions. 
But  the  progress  of  events  rendered  that  country  in  time  the 
head-quarters  of  classical  servility,  and  established  a  system 
of  literature  more  rigorously  bound  in  the  chains  of  pedantry, 
than  any  which  have  prevailed  with  other  nations. 

The  introduction  and  fashion  of  classical  literature,  the 
criticism  of  Aristotle,  and  the  philosophy  of  Plato,  date 
among  the  learned  as  far  back  as  the  reign  of  Francis  the 
First ;  but  they  did  not  receive  the  seal  of  ministerial  and 
royal  authority  until  the  age  of  Louis  the  Thirteenth,  when 
an  incorporated  body  of  pedants,  (the  "  ^lat  c'esl  inoV^  of 
mind,)  under  the  name  of  an  academy,  imaged  in  its  forms 
and  influence  the  tyranny  of  the  government,  which  protect- 
ed it.  Under  the  shadow  of  this  authority,  which  struggled 
successively  against  the  reputation  and  example  of  Corneille, 
Moliere,*  La  Fontaine,  and  Voltaire,  mediocrity  and  preten- 
sion arose  into  consideration  ;  and  fashion  gave  freely  to  the 
La  Har|)es  the  Marmontels,  and  the  Suards — (what  it  so  long 
had  denied  to  the  authors  of  Mahomet  and  tlie  Cid,)  a  place 
on  its  benches  to  dose  in.  The  revolution  came.  Pindus 
and  Parnassus  fell  with  the  Bastile  ;  and  Aristotle  and  Lon- 
ginus,  Apollo  and  the  Muses  joined  the  emigration,  and  hid 
themselves  m  the  suburbs  of  Coblentz,  or  retired  to  the  gar- 
rets  of  Paternoster-row,  in  London.  Still  no  small  portion 
of  their  followers,  like  those  of  their  royal  patron,  remained 
behind  ;  and  took  every  colour  of  the  successive  govern- 
ments. The  classic  eulogists  of  Robespierre,  the  Pindarsof 
the  reign  of  terror,  became  the  Virgiis  of  the  empire,  and 
«ang  their  epithalamiums  to  the  Diva  Augusta  of  fraternizing 
Austria. 

Romanticism,  still  banished  from  France, f  took  shelter  in 

public  liberty.  The  instincts  of  tyranny  are,  however,  keen  and  sure ; 
and  if  the  founders  of  academies  had  no  positive  malice  in  their  insti- 
tution, they  were  at  least  conscious  that  such  bodies  had  little  direct 
liberal  tendency;  and  experience  soon  taught  them  the  advantages  de- 
rivable from  an  aristocratic  literature. 

'  For  nearly  a  century,  the  portrait  of  Moliere  was  refused  admit- 
tance within  the  walls  of  the  Academy. 

t  Save  only  in  the  unaccountably  prevalent  admiration  of  O.-sian,  a 
9* 


102  MODERN  LITEKATTTKE. 

the  meantime  in  the  dark  forests  of  the  Rhine,  hummed  her 
Cronan  on  the  banks  of  the  Shannon,  rhapsodized  on  the 
shores  of  the  Clyde,  and  sent  forth,  from  her  abbey-cell  at 
Newstead,  such  lights  of  song,  as  time  shall  never  obscure^ 
For  her  restoration  to  her  ancient  seats  on  the  Seine,  she 
awaited  the  downfall  of  the  most  imposing  despotism  that 
ever  ruled  a  scarce  reluctant  nation.  It  was  not  till  the  stand- 
ard of  the  Charte  w^as  firmly  planted,  that  romanticism  made 
her  appearance  among  the  regenerated  children  of  France  ; 
shewing  herself  not  at  the  levee  of  the  king,  nor  at  the  sit- 
tings of  the  Academy,  but  in  the  chamber  of  deputies  with 
the  cote  gauche,  and  by  the  side  of  the  Lafayettes  and  the 
Foys.  For  (to  drop  the  image)  romanticism  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  like  protestantism  in  the  sixteenth,  is  but  a  term  in- 
vented to  express  the  principle  of  mental  independence,  by 
which  men  claim  the  right  to  think  after  their  own  unshack- 
led judgments,  and  to  express  their  thoughts  in  such  forms 
and  combinations,  as  their  own  perceptions  dictate,  or  the 
state  of  society  demands. 

This  right,  so  inherent  in  the  very  nature  of  man,  though 
killed  in  the  letter,  had  in  all  times  lived  in  the  spirit.  It 
lurked  under  the  classic  rules  of  Boileau,*  it  sparkled  in 
the  judgments  of  Madame  de  Scvigne,"]'  it  triumphed  in  the 
"  Plaideurs"  of  Racine,  in  the  Cid  of  Corneille,  and  through- 
out all  the  glorious  comedies  of  Moliere  ;  and  it  v/as  advo- 
cated,  as  it  was  splendidly  illustrated,  in  the  works  of  Vol- 
taire.:}:     It  charmed,  and  it  still  charms,   all  Europe  in  the 

work  of  all  others,  Teast  likely  to  have  foand  favour  amongst  the  acf- 
niirers  of  academies. 

*  "  Le  temps,  qui  change  tout,  change  aussi  nos  humeurs. 
Chaque  age  a  ses  plaisirs,  son  esprit,  et  ses  mceurs." 

An  de  la  FoBsie. 

t  Madame  de  Sevigne  preferred  Corneille  to  TJacine,  on  account  of 
the  occasional  coldness  and  feebleness  of  the  latter,  his  misplaced  love- 
making,  and  his  delect  of  national  colouring  :  ''  Vive  done,"  she  says, 
''  notre  vieil  ami  Corneille  ;  pardonnons  lui  de  mechaiis  vers,  en  faveur 
des  divines  sailiies  dont  nous  sommes  transportLS.  Despreaux  en  dit 
encore  plus  que  moi,  et,  en  ut  mot,  c'est  le  bon  gofit :  tenez-vousy." 
—Loire  CXL.  j 

t  The  fate  of  Voltaire's  Adelaide  dn  Guescl fit  is  carious,  Whe-n  first 
played,  it  was  hissed  off  the  stage.  Voltaire  then  gave  it,  under  the 
name  of  the  Due  de  Fois,  weakening  and  correeting  it  "par  respect 
pour  le  ridicule  ;"  and  because  it  was  deteriorated,  he  says  it  succeeded 
very  well.  After  a  lapse  of  some  years,  the  actors  revived  the  original 
piece,  when  all  the  romanticisms,  which  had  formerly  been  hissed, 
were  vigorously  applauded. 


MODERN  LITERATURE.  103 

"  Figaro"  of  Bcaumarchais ;  and  for  nearly  half  a  ccntuiy 
before  the  revoluuon,  without  name  or  designation,  it  had 
influenced  the  judgments  of  all  ranks  and  parties,  to  an  excess 
which  in  the  opinion  of  an  ilhistrious  foreigner,  (himself  the 
founder  of  the  Roman  RomaiUigue)  was  deemed  fanaticism 
and  ridicule.* 

During  the  fermentation  of  the  revolution,  the  literature  of 
France  fell  to  its  lowest  pitch  of  mediocrhy.  I'ho  national 
mind  was  engaged  with  other  pursuits.  The  philosophers  of 
the  preceding  years  had  paid  the  fatal  price  of  their  consis- 
tency :  the  deaths  of  Condorcet,  Lavoisier,  and  Malesher- 
bes,  were  warnings  and  examples  to  intimidate  the  boldest 
spirits,  to  check  originality,  and  to  repress  genius.  None  but 
the  feeble  or  the  base  could  consent  to  write  under  the  bloody 
canons  of  criticism  of  a  Danton  and  a  Marat. 

Under  the  empire,  science  and  the  drama  were  taken  off 
the  lists  of  intellectual  proscription.  They  came  back  to 
serve,  with  less  worthy  exiles,  in  the  antechambers  of  Napo- 
leon ;  while  philosophy,  under  the  sarcastic  appellation  of 
ideology,  was  either  presumed  not  to  exist,  or  was  left  under 
an  obscure  surveillance  with  the  surviving  members  of  the 
national  assembly,  the  national  guard,  and  all  that  desired 
liberty,  or  administered  to  its  attainment.  Still,  the  munifi- 
cent  encouragement  of  the  exact  sciences,  while  it  answer- 
ed the  views  of  the  maitre  ouvrier,  served  the  purposes  of 
the  people  and  the  times.  The  vague  generalities  and  sen- 
timental verbiage  of  the  inferior  revolutionary  writers,  had 
thoroughly  relaxed  the  intellect  and  the  morals  of  the  peo- 
ple :  and  the  discipline  of  facts,  and  of  that  rigorous  logic 
which  positive  science  requires,  came  seasonably  to  re-tem- 
per the  enfeebled  springs  of  the  national  mind.  Nor  was 
their  influence  upon  criticism  and  literature  in  general  less 
beneficial,  by  fostering  the  tendency  and  forcing  the  habit  of 
self-judgment,  and  by  referring  all  things  to  the  test  of  the 
senses,  and  the  criterion  of  utility. 

The  effect  upon  the  rising  generation  of  this  new  school 
of  instruction,  (planned  by  the  Conventionalists  with  so  much 
wisdom,  though  carried  only  into  a  partial  activity  under  the 

•  "  What  have  they  gained  by  leaving  Moliere,  Boileau,  Corneille, 
Racine,  &.c.  «&c.  &c.  .'"     "  Recollect  all  that  I  object  to  is  their  quit- 


the  then  prevailing  Parisian  rage  for  Clarissa  Harlowe.) 


104  MODERN  LITERATURE. 

strong  voliiion  of  Napoleon,)  was  rapidly  felt.  The  examplo 
of  the  Cuviers  and  the  La  Places,  (thus  lavoured  and  distin- 
guished hy  the  great  fountain  of  all  favour  and  distinction,) 
filled  the  Polytechnic  schools  and  the  various  Lycees  with 
ardent  and  ambitious  youths,  all  eager  in  pursuit  of  truth,  and 
trained  to  reject  whatever  is  not  susceptible  of  rigorous  de- 
monstration. The  clear  and  precise  language  of  algebra 
eventually  produced  its  effect  upon  the  national  style  ;  and 
the  criticism  of  mathematical  and  natural  science,  after  the 
lapse  of  a  few  years,  intluenced  the  criticism  of  the  belles 
Icttres. 

In  the  mean  time,  however,  the  surviving  writers  of  the 
democratic  epoch,  who  had  ranged  themselves  successively 
under  the  patronage  of  the  clubs,  the  convention,  the  direc- 
tory, and  the  consulate,  now  sought,  by  adulation  and  servi- 
lity, to  win  the  smiles  of  their  new  master  and  sovereign. 
Their  names  and  their  works  may  be  best  sought  in  that  vo- 
lume, where  their  feebleness,  falseness,  and  common  place 
mediocrity  are  recorded  for  the  instruction  of  posterity, — 
the  "  Dictionnaire  des  Girfjuettes."  Names,  alas  !  are  there 
also  to  be  found,  belonging  to  brighter  records,  and  illus- 
trating better  and  nobler  times  ;  but  the  majority  of  those  who 
fill  the  degrading  pages  of  that  volume  were  the  writers  de 
circonstance,  whose  merit  is  weighed,  not  by  their  literary 
ability,  but  liy  the  success  of  their  base  flattery,  and  the 
plausibility  of  their  perversions  of  truth.  It  is  delightful  to 
observe  that  the  finest  prose  writer  and  the  greatest  poet  of 
modern  i'rance,  Paul  Courier  and  De  Beranger,  are  not  to 
be  found  in  the  degrading  catalogue. 

'■' Les  heros  aimeront  loitjoiirs  le  iht':dlre  qui  rt present eJes 
htros,''*  says  Voliaire,  in  one  of  his  eulogistical  letters  to  the 
"  Alexander  of  the  North  ;"  and  the  drama  tiiat  flattered  the 
vain  glory  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  found  equal  favour  from 
Napoleon.  The  fictions  which  gave  a  false  and  adulatory 
colouring  to  the  actions  of  an  Orestes  or  a  Caisar,  answered 
alike  the  purposes  of  the  reckless  conqueror  of  the  Palati- 
nate, and  of  the  victor  of  Marengo  and  Austerlitz.  Bona- 
parte was  wont  to  say  that,  "  if  he  had  a  Corneille  in  his  do- 
minions,  he  would  have  created  him  a  prince  ;  and  the  senti- 
ment is  characteristic  of  the  difference  between  past  and 
present  times.  A  paltry  pension,  accompanied  by  every  spe- 
cies of  malignant  humiliation,  was  all   that  the  unfortunate 

*  "  Heroes  will  always  love  the  theatre  which  represents  heroes." 


moder:?  literatore.  105 

Corneille  obtained  from  ministerial  patronage  or  royal  boun- 
ty. It  was  the  market  price  of  the  servility  of  genius  in  that 
Augustan  age. 

Napoleon  was  not  only  the  hero  of  tlie  dramatic  muse,  he 
was  also  the  critic  and  the  censor.  He  gave  hints  to  authors 
and  lessons  to  actors.  He  taught  Talma  more  than  he  learn- 
ed from  him  ;  and  the  master  of  the  destinies  of  sove- 
reigns was  also  the  manager  of  the  Thedtre  Francais.  The 
dramatic  notions  of  Napoleon  were  those  of  the  age  in 
which  he  had  been  educated,  but  his  energetic  mind  could 
not  be  satisfied  with  the  insipidity  of  the  old  drama  :  nor  did 
he  pass  unobserved  the  absurdities  of  the  old  school  of  tragic 
acting.  <'  Come  to  the  Tuileries  next  Sunday,"  said  Napo- 
leon to  Talma';  "  I  shall  receive  the  kings  of  Saxony,  Wur- 
temburg,  Naples,  and  Holland.  The  other  princes  of  Eu- 
rope will  be  represented  by  their  ambassadors.  Observe 
these  personages  attentively,  and  tell  me  afterwards  if  you 
see  them  rise  on  their  heels,  roll  their  eyes,  and  make  ex- 
travagant  gesticulations,  or  speak  with  a  ridiculous  empha- 
sis. On  the  contrary,  the  simplest  manners  are  the  most 
distinguished  ;  and  the  superiority  of  rank,  like  that  of  intel- 
lect, announces  itself  by  the  justness  and  the  rarity  of  action, 
or  of  marked  inflections  of  voice."  This  was  genuine  roman- 
ticism, and  Napoleon  was  a  romanticist  sans  s'en  douter. 

On  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  the  classic  muses  of 
the  mil  de  bosuf,  who  made  their  entry  on  the  baggage-wag- 
gons of  the  aUies,  were  busily  employed  in  giving  subjects  for 
impromptu  royalty  to  the  candidates  for  poetical  pensions. 
The  echoes  of  the  theatre  were  called  forth  by  laudatory 
strains  mille  fois  repet.es,  in  praise  of  the  "  envoye  d'en  haut.'" 
Apollo  once  more  resumed  his  place  in  the  Tuileries,  and 
"  les  Graces^'  re-occupied  the  niches  vacated  by  the  Genius 
of  Victory.*  The  modern  classics  beheld  the  restoration  of 
this  portion  of  the   ancient  regime  with  triumph  ;  and  many 

*  Since  the  restoration,  political  opinion  has  entered  for  much  into 
the  elections  of  the  Academy,  as  elsewhere  ;  and  under  the  adminis- 
tration of  Monsieur  de  Vaublanc, — Arnault,  Etienne,  Gregoire,  Garat, 
and  others,  were  deprived  of  their  seats,  as  a  punishment  for  their  inde- 
pendence. Of  these,  the  two  first  were  a  few  months  back  restored  to 
their  honours.  For  the  rest,  there  is  a  natural  wish  on  tlie  part  of  the 
young  romanticists  to  obtain  a  share  of  the  respectability  still  attached 
to  Ihefauteuil,  for  their  own  party,  and  there  is  a  desire  on  the  part  of 
the  classicists  to  exclude  them  ;  but  the  pretensions  of  the  Jesuits  pre- 
dominate over  both  ;  and  monarchism  and  Tartufferie  are  the  surest 
grounds  of  success  in  the  high  court  of  Parnassus. 


106  MODERN  LITERATURE. 

of  the  elders  of  the  liberal  party,  (who  denied  in  literature 
that  liberty  of  conscience  wliich  they  had  adopted  in  poli- 
tics,) held  up  the  code  of  Aristotle  in  one  hand  and  the  charte 
in  the  other. 

In  the  mean  lime,  the  youth  of  France,  the  heroic  wreck 
of  the  campaigns  of. Moscow  and  of  Waterloo,  with  all  their 
military  science,  found  themselves  the  illiterate  subjects  of 
the  most  literary  sovereign  of  Europe.  The  insatiate  de- 
mands of  the  conscription,  anticipating  the  time  necessary 
even  for  professional  education,  had  left  the  later  levies  al- 
most wholly  unacquainted  with  that  branch  of  education, 
which  had  been  exclusively  cultivated  by  Louis  XVIII.  ; 
and  when  released  from  the  toils  and  the  glories  of  war, 
they  rushed  vvilh  a  pardonable  vanity,  and  a  laudable  ambi- 
tion, upon  the  lields  of  classicism,  as  they  had  hurried  to  the 
fields  of  victory  ;  determined  to  achieve  their  purpose  by  the 
rapid  '^' en  avant"  of  their  abdicated  master.  Without  con- 
sidering that  literature  has  its  Polytechnic  schools,  and  that 
its  higher  honours  are  only  to  be  obtained  by  a  gradation 
through  the  lower,  they  were  intent  upon  judgmg,  before 
they  had  read  ;  and  a  short  process  was  opened  to  them,  in 
the  pages  of  La  Harpe,  whose  coins  de  liltcrature  is  a  proof 
that  classical  criticism  does  not  necessarily  .imply  a  previous 
knowledge  of  the  classical  languages. 

The  works  of  this  modern  father  of  the  classics,  like  those 
of  the  fathers  of  the  church,  who  had  preached  by  inspiration 
what  they  had  never  humanly  acquired,  now  enjoyed  a  tem- 
porary celebrity,  which  contrasted  with  the  comparative  ob- 
scurity of  their  original  fortunes.  They  presented  them- 
selves d  point  nomine  to  the  young  aspirants  for  literary  dis- 
tinction, on  the  shelves  of  every  book-stall  of  the  Rue  St. 
Jacques  and  of  tiie  Place  de  I'Odeon,  at  the  very  thresholds 
of  the  Ecole  de  Droit,  and  the  Ecole  de  Medecine.  The 
days  of  the  Scaligers  and  the  Daciers  were  renewed  in  the 
pays  Latin.  The  pupils  of  Daubenton  and  of  Cuvier  re- 
laxed with  Horace  and  Longinus  ;  and  confounding  an- 
ti-classicism wiih  anti-patriotism,  they  cried,  "  Vivent  les 
unites,  a  has  Shahspeare,  c'est  V aide-de-camp  de  Welling- 
ton f^^*  Backed  by  these  young  pretorians  of  Parnassus, 
the  older  "  frires  de  honnes  letfres,^'  the  writers  of  rhyming 
tragedies,  took  the  field,  and  threw  themselves   into  the  ci- 

*  "  Live  the  Aristotelian  unities,  and  down  with  Shakspeare  ;  be  i« 
the  aide-de-camp  of  Wellington  !'" 


MODERX  LITERATURE.  107 

tadel  of  the  Academy.  Some  even  of  the  liberal  journals, 
the  evangelists  of  the  new  light  of  constitutional  politics, 
upheld  the  darkness  of  the  ancient  literature  ;  and  the  cri- 
ticisms of  one  of  the  most  celebrated  redacteurs  of  one  of 
the  honestest  papers  in  France,  (who  wrote,  like  Caesar,  his 
own  commentaries  on  his  own  prowess,)  admitted  no  salva- 
tion for  any  tragedy  that  exceeded,  by  a  single  minute,  the 
legitimate  licence  of  the  Aristotelian  canon. 

It  was  at  this  unlucky  moment  of  literary  reaction,  that  I 
produced  my  unlucky  chapter  on  the  French  theatre,  with  its 
still  more  unlucky  motto  of 

"  Qui  me  dclivra  des  Grecs  et  des  Roniains  ?"* 

It  was  at  this  most  classical  of  epochs  that  I  complained 
that, 

"  duatul  Je  fus  an  tlicatre, 
Je  n'entendois  jamais  que  Pliiidre  et  Cleopjilre, 
Ariadne,  Didoii,  leurs  amaiis,  leiii'sepoux, 
Tous  princes  enrages,  huriaut  com  me  dus  loi)ps."t 

The  consequence  was  too  notorious  to  repeat.  I  becaftie 
the  pariah  of  classicism,  the  excommunicated  of  the  Quar- 
terly, the  outlaw  of  tbe  Journal  des  Debats.  My  literary 
heresy  was  made  a  proof  of  my  religious  niHdclity  in  Eng- 
land, as  of  my  bad  taste  in  France  ;  and  it  was  tlius  that  I 
became  the  martyr  of  romanticism,  before  I  was  acquainted 
with  its  existence ;  and  was  ranged  among  the  "  nursing 
mothers"  of  the  new  doctrine,  before  I  was  qualified  even 
fot  a  catechumen. 

While  servile  and  interested  mediocrity  "  dt'goule  de  glolre, 
et  d'argent  affame,^^  found  its  account  in  an  order  of  things, 
which  paid  with  profusion  its  flippant  timidity,  the  national 
genius  seemed,  like  the  great  master-mind  which  had  so  long 
held  it  in  abeyance,  to  be  exiled  to  some  remote  region.  A 
doubt  almost  arose  whether  sucli  a  thing  had  ever  existed,  or 
at  least  whether  it  had  survived  its  momentary  developement, 
in  the  Augustan  age  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  ;  and  the  pro- 

*  "  Who  will  deliver  mc  fromthe  Greeks  and  Romans  ?" 

t  "  If  I  go  to  tbe  theatre,  each  niglit  on  the  scene, 
Cleopatras  and  Phedras  for  ever  are  seen  ; 
With  the  lunatic  princes,  their  lovers  and  spouse?, 
Whose  ranting  might  tear  down  the  walls  of  the  houses." 


108  MODERN  LITERATURE. 

fessors  of  classicism  challenged  their  own  times  to  produce 
a  Racine,  a  Boileau,  or  a  La  Fontaine. 

But  under  the  deep  and  dead  repose,  which  mantled  on 
the  surface  of  society  during  the  first  epoch  of  the  restora- 
tion, lay  the  fermenting  principle  of  new  and  undreamed-of 
combinations.  As  coercion  declined, — as  opinion  rose  from 
a  chaos  of  conflicting  principles,  and  moulded  ilself  into  defi- 
nite forms, — new  modes  were  created  by  new  institutions ; 
the  leaven  of  an  active,  if  not  a  free  press,  (the  fii-st  gift  of  a 
representative  government,)  worked  in  the  mass  of  heteroge- 
neous interests;  and  a  silent  revolution  in  the  mind  and  im- 
agination of  France,  was  gradually  carried  into  effect.  Thir- 
ty years  of  the  practical  pursuit  of  free  institutions,  were  at 
length  apparently  leading  to  the  attainment  of  the  object 
sought ;  systems  were  yielding  to  experiment ;  the  flimsy  li- 
terature of  the  Augustan  age,  which  with  all  its  beauties,  had 
never  served  a  single  purposeof  political  science,  or  of  social 
amelioration,  was  now  no  longer  wanted ;  and  it  therefore 
ceased  to  be  relished.  The  times  called  for  other  nutriment. 
The  old  trees  of  knowledge  had  ceased  to  bear  ;  and  a  new- 
er and  more  vigorous  vegetation  was  springing  up,  whose 
shoots,  like  those  of  the  natural  plant,  were  all  turning  to- 
wards the  light.  The  public  mind  was  devoted  to  public 
events  ;  and  the  dawn  of  a  new  era  of  French  literature  came 
forth,  in  colours  suited  to  the  epoch  of  its  appearance.  Un- 
der the  old  despotism  of  the  Bourbons,  public  displeasure  had 
found  vent  in  a  vaudeville,  or  exploded  in  an  epigram.  Such 
poetical  insurrections — such  pointed  resistance  to  power  up- 
on paper — were  the  safety  valves  df  the  Richelieus  and  the 
Mazarins.  Under  the  Bourbons  of  regenerated  France,  puh- 
lie  opinion  sought  utterance  in  the  natural  language  of  prose, 
the  true  and  genuine  expositor  of  mind  ; — flowing  naturally, 
like  the  thought  it  embodies,  and  pausing  not  in  its  strong  and 
rapid  current,  to  eddy  round  a  rhyme,  or  to  seek  its  outlet 
through  the  cramped  and  sinuous  channels  of  an  ungrateful 
metre.  No  one  now  consulted  Boileau,  or  studied  Racine, 
to  find  a  rule  for  the  manner  of  expression  ;  the  matter  was 
all.  Resistance  to  tyranny,  and  the  exposure  and  defeat  of 
an  attempted  revival  of  the  old  abuses  of  the  old  system,  did 
not  admit  of  the  time,  necessary  to  point  an  epigram,  or  to 
polish  an  alembicated  tirade.  The  new  press  of  France  sent 
forth,  in  its  volcanic  explosion,  a  torrent  of  opinion,  in  the 
form  of  pamphlets,  which,  in  spite  of  the  clouds  of  dense  va- 
pour of  a  first  eruption,  dilTused  the  bright  sparks  and  pure 


MODERN  LITERATURE.  109 

iuime  of  incorruptible  patriotism.  It  was  then,  that  one,  who 
was  a  symbol  oi'  the  times  in  which  he  hved,  wiiose  charac- 
ter and  life  represented  the  last  thirty  years  of  his  country's 
eventful  story,  appeared  to  illustrate  in  his  writings  the  force 
of  circumstance,  not  only  upon  national  intellect,  but  upon 
the  national  temperament : — for  in  no  other  times,  and  under 
no  other  form  of  circumstances  could  France  have  produced 
such  a  character,  or  such  a  writer  as  Paul  Louis  Courier. 

Paul  Courier,  the  Pascal  of  politicians,  the  founder  of  the 
prose  style  of  the  first  free  press  France  had  ever  possessed, 
who,  in  the  beautiful  example  of  his  own  composition  chang- 
ed a  language  of  phrases  into  a  language  of  ideas, — whose 
words  are  thoughts,  whose  logic  was  the  simple  ingenuity  of 
truth, — was,  by  a  lamentable  fatality,  allowed  only  an  exis- 
tence as  brief  as  it  was  brilliant.  But  his  mission  was  ac- 
complished. He  established  a  conviction  that  another  style, 
than  that  by  v/hich  Bossuet  frightened  the  languid  sensibility 
of  the  court,  or  by  which  Fenelon  soothed  it  into  tranquillity, 
was  attainable,  and  was  necessary  to  captivate  an  enlighten- 
ed and  regenerated  people.  In  his  graphic  delineations,  his 
"  terms  piUoi-esques,"  and  his  rapid  sketches  of  existing  man- 
ners, he  evinced  that  nothing  can  be  said  in  rhyme,  which 
may  not  more  effectually  and  effectively  be  written  in  prose. 
There  is  a  poetry  in  his  epistolary  descriptions,*  which  the 
"  Gardens"  of  the  2^/"^Ci>Ma;  Delille  never  reached  ;  and  there 
is  a  freshness  in  his  groupings,  which  the  sickly  poetasters  of 
the  Palais  Royal  can  never  rival :  because  the  poetry  of  na- 
tare  is  only  to  be  tbund  where  she  herself  presides,  with  all 
her  stupendous  and  admirable  works  about  her. 

While  the  style  of  Courier  is  deemed  in  France  a  model 
as  pure  as  it  is  original,  the  opinions  which  he  advanced  form 
the  code  of  a  liberal  and  enlightened  population ;  and  of  the 
numerous  writers  who  have  occupied  the  political  arena,  no 
one  since  the  days  of  Voltaire,  has  been  read  with  more  avi- 
dity, has  produced  a  greater  effect  upon  the  public  mind,  or 
has  been  more  formidable  to  the  profitable  abuses  of  a  cor- 
rupt authority. 

Coeval  with  this  founder  of  the  prose  of  romanticism, 
stood  a  poet,  whose  inspiration  was  as  national  as  his  tempe- 
rament ;  and  whose  verses  resembled  in  their  "  vieille  gaiete 
gauloise,"  that  true  French  poetry,  which  the  academy,  and 
the  pedantry  of  the  seventeenth  century,  endeavoured  to  re- 
place  by  imitations  of  the  classic  models  of  antiquity.     Since 

♦  See  his  admirable  letters  dated  from  all  parts  of  Italy, 
Vol.  I.— 10 


no  MODERN  LITERATURE. 

the  days  of  Clemeut  Marot,  nothing  so  fresh  and  so  French 
as  the  writings  of  Beranger,  had  appeai'ed.  The  poetry  lay 
in  the  essence,  not  in  the  form — in  the  sentinnent,  not  in  the 
diction.  Wit,  sarcasm,  irony,  humour,  and  invective,  all 
brought  in  their  turn  to  inflame  the  patriotism  and  anima^;e 
the  courage  of  the  nation,  derive  an  enhanced  force  from  the 
unaffected  ease  and  simpUcity  of  the  language.  It  has  no 
inversions,  no  gaudy  imagery,  no  inflated  metaphor  ;  but  as 
it  echoes  the  rich  melody  of  joy,  or  breathes  the  plaintive 
accents  of  compassion  or  regret,  it  kindles  the  fancy,  and 
gqes  directly  to  the  heart.  The  muse  of  Beranger  is  the 
muse  of  liberalism  ;  and  his  poetry  is  in  the  mouths  of  all 
Frenchmen,  who  are  not  the  slaves  of  the  court,  nor  the  pro- 
tectors of  abuse.  But  its  popularity  is  not  dependant  exclu- 
sively upon  this  cause  ;  there  is  an  intense  reality  and  truth 
about  every  thing  he  writes,  a  genume  inspiration  of  unaf- 
fected passion,  whose  charm  is  beyond  all  fictitious  and  ima- 
ginative writing,  and  is  in  itself  perfectly  irresistible. 

By  the  mere  English  reader,  the  poetry  of  Beranger  will 
be  rarely  either  understood  or  relished.  In  his  graver  at- 
tacks upon  the  ultra  government,  an  Englishman  will  want 
the  necessary  local  knowledge  and  the  personal  interest,  to 
be  strongly  excited  ;  and  in  his  lighter  and  more  playful  skir- 
mishing, there  is  more  of  the  levity  and  licence  which  have 
too  uniformly  distinguished  "  la  gaie  science"  in  France,  in 
all  ages  and  all  regimes,  than  good  morals  or  pure  taste  can 
approve.  There  is  an  occasional  want  of  tact,  or  perhaps  a 
constitutional  recklessness  of  preserving  the  line  of  proprie- 
ty, such  as  has  been  so  severely  censured  in  the  writings  of 
Byron  ;  which,  though  familiar  in  French  literature,  has  ne- 
ver been  tolerated  in  the  poetry  of  this  country.  His  merits, 
however,  are  not  the  less  those  of  the  highest  order,  both  as 
a  genius  and  a  patriot ;  and  he  will  be  read  by  posterity, 
when  the  r\\ylrn•^gfreluqueis  of  contemporary  insipidity,  will 
have  ceased  to  be  known,  even  by  name. 

When  we  left  France,  in  the  year  1818,  the  word  "  Ro- 
manticism" was  unknown  (or  nearly  so)  in  the  circles  of 
Paris.  The  thing  itself  was  but  an  inward  grace,  that  took 
no  visible  form.  The  writers  a  la  mode,  whether  ultra  or  li- 
beral, were,  or  thought  themselves  to  bo,  suppoi'ters  and  prac- 
tisers  of  tlie  old  school  of  literature.  The  journals  were  all 
pillars  of  literary  orthodoxy,  and  preaclied  the  infallibility  of 
the  Academy,  even  though  they  questioned  the  infallibility  of 
the  Pope.     "  Les  ceuvres  complettes,"  then  deemed  necessary 


MODERN    LITERATURE.  Ill 

to  complete  a  fashionable  library,  were  those  of  the  Mriters 
most  severe  in  the  observance  of  the  Aristotelian  canons. 
Even  the  jrenius  of  Monsieur  Chateaubriant  lay  comparative- 
ly in  abeyance,  with  his  reputation  ;  and  the  last  names  I  had 
heard  re-echoed  by  the  voice  of  fame,  were  those  of  Messieurs 
Le  Mercier,  Jouy,  Du  Val,  Dupaty,  Arnault,  Etienne,  An- 
drieux,  Pastoret,  Levis,  Smmet,  Baour-Lormian,  and  others 
of  the  same  creed  and  doctrines.  On  my  return,  iu  IS29, 1 
found  this  album  sanctorum  converted  into  tlie  muster-i'oU  of 
an  army  of  martyrs.*  Other  lists  of  celebrity  were  now  cur- 
rent, and  Victor  Hugo,  De  La  Martine,  Alfred  de  Vigny, 
Merimee,  Vitet,  Dumas,  Beyle,  Barante,  Tierry,  Mignet,  &c. 
&c.  had  taken  the  place  of  those  whom  we  had  left  in  pos- 
session  of  the  public  favour.  In  the  interval  of  less  than  ten 
years,  a  change  has  taken  place  in  the  literature  of  France 
beyond  the  scope  of  probability  to  have  anticipated.  The 
spirit  of  liberty  which  was  developed  in  tlie  political  writings 
of  1816,  has,  in  1829,  got  possession  of  the  whole  range  of 
literature.     The  litterateur  and  the  politician  are  no  longer 

*  Not  that  these  distinguished  authors  have  ceased  to  merit  or  to  ob- 
tain  the  applause  of  a  large  portion  of  their  countrymen  ;  but  the  war  of 
romanticism,  and  the  prevalent  admiration  of  the  priidiicts  of  the  new 
school,  have  given  an  additional  vogue  to  the  younger  writers  beyond 
what  their  vigour,  freshness,  and  novelly  would  otherwise  have  obtain- 
ed ;  and  this  vogue  inevitably  throws  the  seniors  somewhat  into  shade. 
To  many  of  them  we  had  the  pleasure  of  being  personally  known  ;  and 
I  have  already  given  some  account  of  them  in  my  first  work  on  France. 
I  was  happy  to  find  them,  on  my  return  in  1829,  (w  ith  very  few-  excep-: 
tions,)  in  the  same  enjoyment  of  life,  and  its  intellectual  pursuits,  as  I 
bad  left  them  :  Monsieur  Jouy  busy  in  bringing  out  his  William  TpII; — • 
Monsieur  Duval  enjoying  the  triumphs  of  his  last  comedy,  "  Charles 
II.,"  (as  well  as  of  his  early  one,  "  Henry  V,")  in'  equal  possession  of 
public  favour  after  a  lapse  of  twenty-five  years  ; — Monsieur  Le  Mercier 
reposing  in  the  glory  of  his  political  consistency,  and  literary  indepen- 
dence ; — Monsieur  Charles  Pougens,  in  spite  of  blindness  and  advancing 
years,  still  occupied  in  works  of  playful  imagination  and  of  philosophi- 
cal utility; — Monsieur  Arnault  occupied  in  his  new  trae;edy  of  "  Pertir 
nas,"  and  en-joying  the  well  merited  success  of  his  delightful  fables,  a 
collection  of  epigrams  under  the  form  of  Apologues,  in  whicli  is  to  be 
found  that  delicious  mor^eau  so  long  falsely  attributed  to  Madame  de 
la  Sabliere — 

"  De  la  tige  dttachee, 

Pauvre  feiiille  dosechee, 

Ou  va  tu,  Sic.  Sic. ;" 
— and  IMonsieur  Dupaty  occupied  on  an  original  di'amaof  Mezzo  Cnral- 
tere,  of  great  interest  ai.d  merit;  wiiile  we  found  its  author  the  same  ia 
friendship  and  in  spirits  as  when  he  read  his  excellent  and  courageous 
poem,  "  Le  Delateur,"  to  en  admiring  auditory,  in  our  salon,  some 
twelve  years  back. 


12  MODERN    LITEEATUKE. 

distinct  personages.    The  time  and  the  talent  which  formerfy 
were  given  by  the  French  poets  and  dramatists  to  enervate 
and  degrade  (or,  at  best,  merely  to  amuse)  the  people,  and  to 
homage  their  vain  and  heartless  rulers,  are  now  devoted  to 
instruct  the  nation,  and  to  combat  the  aggressions  of  the  pri- 
vileged classes.     The  tld  race  o^ homines  de  lettres,  who  for- 
merly  filled  the   salons  of  Paris  with  their  common  places, 
and  ihexr  Jlagi->rnerie.,  has  disappeared  ;  or,  if  the  ghost  of  an 
ex-Abbe  still  haunts  the  cafe,  or  frights  the  circles  of  litera- 
ture from  their  propriety, — though  pity  may  procure  respect 
for  the  apparition,  patience  itself  will  not  afibrd  it  attention. 
Reading,  thinking,,  scrutinizing  France  has  not  leisure  to  be- 
stow upon  the  dethroned  oracles  of  a  by-gone  generation,  nor 
to  give  to  the  conventional  judgments  of  a  defunct  criticism. 
The  most  popular  writers  of  the  present  da)',  whose  works 
are  seen  in  every  hand,  and  are  found  on  every  tabFe,  whose 
dramas  are  always  accepted,  and  always  heard  with  delight, 
are  in  the  spring  and  prime  of  life,  (the  season  of  genuine  en- 
thusiasm, and    incorruptible   honesty).     Placed  by  a  compe- 
tency,  now  so  widely  diffused   in  France,  beyond  the  cares 
and  the  temptations   of   sordid  poverty, — born  and  bred  in 
times  when  personal  distinctions  are  alone  admitted  as  claims 
to  public  esteem, — they  evince,   in  their   pursuit  of  fame,  ari 
uprightness  of  conduct  beyond   all    the    inspiration  of  court 
favour  or  aristocratic  protection.     The  ardent  desir^e  to  bene- 
fit  their  country,  (while  they  amuse  and  instruct  it,)  by  repre- 
sentations  of  its  past  absurdities  or  misrule,  has  led  them  to> 
open  the   long-closed  volume    of  national  history,  which,  in 
furnishing  them  v.'ith  the  soundest  data  for  philesophical  in- 
quiry, supplies  tlxem  with    the    most   romantic  materials    for 
imaginative  composition.     If  ever  there  was  a  country  rich- 
er than  all  olhergin  those  records  of  past  times  which  reflsct 
the  lights  and  shadows  of  successive  ages  with  graphic  fide- 
lity, and  preserve  every  hue  in  unfading  freshness,  that  coun- 
try is   France.     Monstrelet,   Le  Moine  de    St.  Denis,  Feli- 
bien,  Sauval,    Froissart,  Ducage,  Brantome,  L'Estoile,  with 
the  most  amusing   and  vivacious  productions  of  the  Daubig. 
neys,  De  Mottevilles,   Montpensiers,    Lafayettes,    Nemours, 
Bussi-Rabutins,,  the  Sevignes,  La  Rochefoucaulds,  De  Retz, 
De   Contis,  <fec.  &c.  are  treasures  of  literature  unknown   in 
the  records  of  other  couniries,  and  afibrd  illustrations  of  hu- 
manity, far  more  valual)le   than  are  left  in  the  elegant,   but 
more  rhetorical  works  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  historians. 
Valuable   and  curious  as  these  writmgs  were,  the  greater 


..jVHmi, 


MODERX  LITERATTTRE.  113 

number  of  them  had  lain  for  centuries  neglected  or  un- 
, known,  in  the  dust  of  pubhc  libraries,  which  the  public  ne- 
ver  consult,  and  which  the  antiquarianism  formerly  in  vogue, 
had  little  occasion  to  enter.  Too  obsolete,  too  ponderous, 
or  too  scarce  for  general  circulation,  their  very  existence 
was  unknown  to  the  people  ;  and  the  government,  if  aware 
of  their  importance,  considered  them  as  affording  too  fearful 
an  evidence  of  the  misery  of  the  times  which  were  called 
good,  merely  because  they  were  old,  to  force  them  upon  the 
public  notice,  by  its  example  and  patronage.  Other  chroni- 
cles were  sought  for,  to  supply  fictitious  narrative  with  its 
names  and  localities.  The  romances  of  Madame  Scuderi, 
like  the  dramas  of  Racine,  were  intended  to  paint  "  Caton 
gallant,  et  Brutus  dameret ;"  and  the  superb  romances  of  real 
life,  with  all  their  picturesque  accompaniments,  afforded  by 
the  histories  of  the  Guises,  the  Valois,  and  the  Montmoren- 
cis,  the  legitimate  sources  of  national  fictitious  narrative  as 
of  national  tragedy,  were  either  unthought  of  by  the  authors 
of  the  Clelius,  the  Alexandres,  and  the  grand  ('yrus,  or 
were  purposely  left  in  a  safe  oblivion.  .  Even  in  the  succeed- 
ing age,  when  sceptical  inquiry  prevailed,  philosophy,  which 
searched  on  every  side  for  allies  against  antiquated  abuse, 
overlooked  these  rich  mines  of  illustration  and  inference. 
Men  of  the  first  genius,  who  saw  and  abhorred  the  errors  of 
religion  and  government  of  those  times,  were  not  led  by 
their  habits  of  study,  or  their  customary  associations  of  idea, 
to  avail  themselves  of  these  authorities.  The  grateful  and 
recompensing  labour  was  reserved  for  the  sons  of  a  newer 
and  more  vigorous  race. 

The  restoration  of  the  Bourbons  and  the  projected  revival 
of  all  the  [iolitical  and  social  infamies  of  the  old  regime,  in 
challenging  the  intellect  of  France  to  combat  on  an  arena, 
so  lat'^Iy  the  scene  ot  a  bloodier  and  more  ferocious  contest, 
has  been  the  occasion  of  this  discovery;  by  driving  the  com- 
batants  for  liljerality  io  seek  for  the  origin  and  causes  of  in^ 
stitutes,  which  might  naturally  be  expected  to  prove  as  frau- 
dulent in  their  beginnings,  as  they  have  been  felt  to  be  into- 
lerable in  their  maturity.  In  searching  the  records  of  the 
past,  to  explain  and  illustrate  the  present,  the  dramatic  ener- 
gy of  character,  the  picturesque  colouring  of  the  story,  and 
the  interesting  events  of  the  national  history,  could  not  fail 
to  strike  the  man  of  letters  ;  and  the  vast  advantage  of 
holdingup  to  public  scorn  and  hatred  the  institutes  which  had 
produced  so  much  misery,  was  as  evident  to  the  politician.. 

10* 


114  MODERN  LITERATrSE- 

The  attempt  was  made,  and  succeeded  ;  and  historical  ro- 
mances,  and  historical  dramas,  executed  with  more  or  less  of 
talent  and  genius,  but  with  a  common  honesty  of  purpose 
and  courageoua  exposure  of  evil,  have  effected  a  new  epoch 
in  literature,  and  decided  a  taste  in  France  for  a  n;!W  style 
of  composition,  not  speedily  to  be  superseded.  The  princi- 
ple upon  which  these  works  are  constructed,  is  that  of  free 
inquiry  and  a  free  selection  from  nature.  Its  rules  are,  to 
have  none, — or  such  only  as  arise  out  of  the  genius  of  the 
subject ;  to  submit  to  no  authority  of  corporate  bodies,  but 
to  choose  the  word  which  best  suits  the  expression  of  the 
thought  or  person,  (the  word  to  v.hich  Voltaire  has  well  ap- 
plied the  epithet  "  pitloresque,")  and  to  use,  when  necessary. 
a  language  fresh  from  tlie  mint  of  modern  coinage,  or  se- 
lected from  the  ancient  vocabulary,  hitherto  anathematized 
by  the  timid  servility  of  the  academicians.  The  moral  of 
the  new  school  is,  that  "  what  has  been,  may  be  again  ;"  but 
the  nation,  which  gloats  over  its  productions,  replies  by  its 
approbation  of  the  warning,  with  an  intelligible  and  a  con- 
vincing "never." — Never  again  will  France  or  Europe  re- 
turn to  that  old  state  of  things  which  produced  the  feeble, 
elegant,  and  unuseful  literature  designated  as  classic,  which 
stands  opposed  to  the  bolder,  rougher,  honester  writing  of 
the  present  day. 

Of  the  long  list  of  popular  writers  of  this  school,  it  w^ould 
be  invidious  to  select  any  one  as  a  model  of  its  especial  cha- 
racteristics. Its  clear,  nervous,  and  brilliant  historians — 
Montgaillard,  Mignet,  Thierrj',  Barante,  Guizot,  CappefiquCy 
and  Ancelot,  are  already  known  to  the  British  readers  of 
European  literature  ;  while  that  rich  and  amusing  class  of 
productions,  which  by  the  name  of  dramas,  '^  scenes  f^odaies," 
*'  scenes  historiques,^'  "■  scenes  fojmlaires,^''*  "  romans  histori- 
ques,"  "  proverbe^,^'^  is  so  peculiar  to  the  age  and  nation  it 
illustrates,  that  to  inention  its  existence  should  be  a  sufficient 
stimulus  to  direct  public  curiosity  to  its  productions.  "  La 
Jacquerie,'^  by  the  author  of  "  Clara  Gazul  ;"  "  La  Mort  de 
Henri  IIL^'  "  Les  Barricades"  "  Les  E'.ats  de  Blois,"  by  Vi- 
tet  ;:j:  "  Les  Soirees  de  i\euilly,"  by  Cave  and  Dittemei  ;  the 

♦  By  Henri  Mounier. 

t  By  Le  Clercq  and  by  Le  Mesle. 

I  The  charming  productions  of  Vitet  and  Morimee  have  illustrated 
the  theory  of  Henault  in  historical  writing,  and  proved  its  truth.  "  Le 
grand  dSfaut  del  histoire,'"  says  the  presideMt,  "  est  de  v'itrt  qu'un  ricit; 
el  ilfaul  cenvenir  que  les  mimes  fails  racontis,  sHls  iioienl  Jtiis  en  aclion^^ 


MODEKN   LITERATUnE.  115 

"  Henri  III."  of  Dumas  ;  the  "  Cinq  Mars"  of  Alfred  de 
Vigny — compete  in  literary  merit  with  any  of  the  historicr.l 
romances  of  England,  while  they  far  surpass  them  in  hones- 
ty of  intention  and  b(ddness  of  design.  In  British  literature, 
such  compositions  have  served  to  make  the  worse  appear  the 
better  cause,  to  paint  tl>e  turpitude  of  Charles  the  Second  as 
the  social  errors  of  an  accomplished  gentleman,  and  the  hor- 
rible crimes  of  Louis  the  Eleventh  as  the  eccentricities  of  a 
royal  humourist  ;  but  in  the  honest,  manly  works  of  the  no- 
velists and  dramatists  of  modern  France,  the  truth,  and  no- 
thing but  the  truth,  with  the  '■'■quand  minie"  of  the  ultra  royal 
zealots,  is  the  object  and  end  of  all  their  labours. 

It  is  urged  by  the  opponents  of  the  romantic  school,  that 
amongst  its  numerous  authors  there  is  none  whose  reputation 
and  merit  approach  those  of  the  writers  of  the  Augustan  age; 
and  "  la  mddiocrite  imwersdle'^  is  the  theme  of  incessant  la- 
mentation.  But  the  age  of  "  Jes  grandes  celtbrites"  is  pass- 
ed. The  light  of  literature  is  too  widely  diffused,  to  suffer 
the  lustre  of  any  "  one  bright  particular  star"  to  shine  pre- 
eminently  conspicuous.  Measures,  not  men — things,  not 
theories — the  public  good,  and  not  the  public  amusement — 
prose,  not  poetry — pre-occupy  attention,  and  modify  the 
manifestations  of  individual  genius. 

The  abnegation  of  selt^,  the  abandonment  of  the  paltry 
gloriole d^auleur,  is  a  necessary  sacrifice  cheerfully  encoun- 
tered by  the  young  literati  of  the  present  dav  ;  and  the  am- 
bition to  be  useful  to  the  many,  has  superseded  the  desire  of 
writing  only  for  the  refined  and  fastidious  few. 

But  if  in  this  objection  there  were  any  validity  as  p.gainet 
the  romanticists,  it  lies  equally  heavy  in  its  application  to  the 
rigid  imitators  of  classical  models.  Amongst  the  most  dis- 
tinguished observers  of  the  unities  there  is  no  single  writer 
approaching  nearer  to  the  splendour  and  reputation  of  the 
Racines  and  the  Deapreaux,  thpn  among  those  who  are  la- 
bouring by  other  means.  The  truth  is,  that  when  the  litera- 
ture of  a  nation  has  been  long  worked,  and  the  first  places 
are  all  pre-occupied,  there  is  no  roozn  for  a  second  crop  of 
chefs- d^ceuvre  on  the  same  soil.  There  is  something  inhe- 
rent in  the  task  of  imitation,  which  is  in  itself  inimical  to  r«x- 
cellence  and  repulsive  to  genius.  The  only  hope  of  a  later 
age  lies  in  the  breaking  of  new  ground  ;  and  there  is  more 

auroient  bien  une  autre  force,  et  stirtoul  vorleraient  bien  w.e  autre  clairtS 
d  V  esprit^' 


IIG  MODERN  LITERATURE. 

intellect  shewn  even  in  the  abortive  attempts  to  attain  to  new 
sources  of  pleasure  and  information,  than  in  the  happiesi; 
perseverance  in  cultivating  the  old.  Romanticism  is  at  pre- 
sent only  in  its  infancy ;  and  it  is  the  common  weakness  of 
humanity  in  forsaking  error,  to  run  into  a  contrary  extreme. 
The  system  likewise  suffers  under  the  exaggerations  of  the 
ignorant  and  the  mistakes  of  the  inexperienced.  It  has  not 
yet  been  sufficiently  demonstrated,  that,  not  to  be  classical  is 
not  necessarily  to  be  romantic  ;  and  that,  in  breaking  through 
the  restraints  of  a  too  rigid  rule,  there  is  no  warranty  for  the 
total  abandonment  gf  common  sense.  With  all  its  imper- 
fections on  its  head,  romanticism  is,  in  the  order  of  nature,  a 
necessary  consequence  of  necessary  causes  ;  and,  whether 
or  no,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  it  shall  rear  its  own  subjects  for 
immortality,  it  has  appeared  opportunely  to  relieve  the  pre- 
sent age  from  the  decrepitude  and- mediocrity  which  imme- 
diately preceded  it : 

"  It  rises  to  us  like  a  new-found  world 
To  mariners  long  time  distressed  at  sea, 
Sore  from  a  storm,  and  all  tlie'r  viands  spent: 
Or  like  the  snn,  new  rising  out  of  chaos. 
Some  dregs  of  ancient  nip-lit  npt  quite  purged  off." 


FRENCH  PHILOSOPHY. 

At  the  period  when  we  first  visited  France,  the  nation  was 
still  under  the  influence  of  the*revolutioaary  excitement,  and 
governed  by  the  one  leading  idea,  which  the  recent  struggles 
had  brought  into  question.  Both  the  opponents  and  the  ad- 
vocates of  the  revolution  rtill  continued  to  regard  all  things 
that  had  reference  to  that  event,  in  a  f  imple  and  single  point 
of  view,  either  a?  purely  evil,  or  immeasurably  good.  Opi- 
nions  stood  front  to  front  ;  and  no  cold  medium  in  politics, 
religion,  or  philosophy,  was  known  or  admitted. 

The  philosophy  of  this  epoch  wns  that  which  had  been  left 
by  the  writers  who  had  immediatel}'  preceded  the  revolution  ; 
for  though  Napoleon,  with  the  nattiral  instincts  of  his  calling, 
had  endeavoured  to  decry  and  ridicule  all  general  and  ab- 
stract inquiry,*  and  had  interrupted  the  education  of  the  rising 

*  Napoleon  disfigured  and  cu"tailed  the  admirable  arrangement  of 
courses  m  the  Normal  schools,  and  changed  tht;  plan  of  the  Instuut,  ia, 


FRENCH    PHiLOSOPHY.  117 

generation  by  his  premature  levies  of  troop?,  jet  still  a  tradi- 
tion remained  of  the  opinions  uhicii  had  prevailed  ;  and  if 
they  were  not  embraced  in  the  fubiess  of  k'io%vled<ie,  they 
were. adopted  as  prejudices,  and  maintained  without  hesita- 
tion. The  doctrines  of  Locke,  Condiilac,  Cabiinis,  and  De 
Tracy,  though  less  generally  studied  than  they  had  bei^n,  were 
still  acknowledged  as  articles  of  national  faith.  The  elder 
members  of  society  had  been  educated  in  their  principles, 
and  the  younger  received  them  extra  dvce;  and  if  any  one 
should  have  ventured  to  appeal  to  any  other  source  of  truth 
than  the  evidence  of  the  senses,  he  would  have  been  laughed 
at  as  an  ignoramus,  or  scouted  as  an  empiric. 

The  change  which  has  since  occurred  in  public  opinion  is 
striking  and  instructive.  Society,  divided  by  the  restoration 
into  categories,  has  split  likewise  into  sects  and  coteries.  The 
stupor  into  which  the  prepotent  will  of  Napoleon  had  cast  the 
nation,  was  at  once  dissipated  by  his  fall  ;  and  all  the  desires 
and  aspirations  which  he  had  held,  as  in  a  leash,  have  again 
burst  forth  in  their  pristine  activity.  The  thirst  for  informa- 
tion of  every  kind  has  become  universal,  both  for  its  own 
sake,  and  as  a  necessary  preliminary  to  the  secure  possession 
of  libert)'.  The  young  men,  more  especially,  have  entered 
upon  the  study  of  moral  science,  with  the  desire  of  knowing 
and  asserting  their  rights  ;  and  restrained,  by  the  holy  alli- 
ance, from  giving  a  tbrcible  ellect  to  their  will,  they  have  en- 
tered  upon  speculative  philosophy,  as  an  arena,  in  which  they 
can  still  combat  absolutism  with  certainty  and  effect. 

But  not  the  people  alone  have  been  active  and  alert :  the 
various  parties  of  the  aristocracy,  the  court,  and  the  priest- 
hood, have  also  had  their  interests  to  defend.  The  pursuit  of 
truth  has  been  subordinated  by  faction  to  the  propagation  of 
party  spirit ;  and  .a  vast  variety  of  compromises,  between  the 
extreme  principles  of  divine  right  and  the  sovereignty  of  the 
people,  between  absolute  freedom  of  conscience  and  papal 
i-estriction,  and  between  unlimited  scepticism  and  implicit 
faith,  have  been  started,  to  distract  the  public  intelh3ct,  and 
entrap  its  judgment. 

In  this  combination  of  weakness  and  dishonesty  on  the 
part  of  the  government,  and  of  division  and  hesitation  among 
particular  classes  of  the  peojde,*    many   theories   have  been 

order  lo  exclude  tlie  moral  scip(n:e=,  whose  culture  was  incompatible 
with  his  exclusive  notions  of  goveriimpnt. 

*  Authors,  legislaiors,  professors,  candidates  foi  place,  and  specula- 
tive philosophers. 


lis  FRENCH  PHILOSOPHY. 

developed,   and    fractions    of  opinion    have     been    elevated 
into    a   temporary     consequence  and    consideration.     Half- 
lengfh  views  in  plnlosophy,  and  half-lengtli   measures  in  po- 
litics, have  either  been  adopted  by  necessity,  or  become  fa- 
sionable  from  convenience.      Quasi  truths  and  partial  plausi- 
bilities have  gained  a  currency  at  the  expense  of  the    whole- 
ness and   simplicity  of  opinion  ;  and  in  the  shock  of  parties, 
the  march  of  inteUect  has  been,  for  the  moment,   interrupted 
and  unsettled.     During  the  last  five  years,  and  more  espe- 
cially since  the   overthrow  of  the   deplorable   administration 
of  Villele,  this  chaos  of  mind  has  begun  to  resolve  itself  into 
something   like  order  and  arrangement  ;  but  the  new  crea- 
tion is  yet  in  its. infancy  ;   and   its   combinations,  like  the  fa- 
bulous monsters  said  to  have  been  engendered  in  the  mud  of 
the  Nile,    are   both    deficient  and  redundant  in  their  proper- 
tions."    Every  thing  has  been  called  into  question — religion, 
politics,  philosophy,  and  literature  ;  and  amidst  an  universal 
desire  for  practical  freedom,  and  a  growing  tendency  towards 
republican  notions  in  the   younger  part  of  society,  the  very 
bases  of  theoretrical  reasoning,  the  postulates  of  speculative 
discussion,   still    remain   undetermined  and  afloat.     Various 
sects  of  political  economists,  the  two  factions  of  romanticists 
and  classicists  in  literature,  the  innumerable  subdivisions  of 
party  in  politics — royalists,  Jesuits,  republicans,  constitutional- 
ists, and  doctrinaries  —  shew  society  -to   have  been  an  epoch 
of  transition,  opinion  in  suspense,  and  the  remaining  modes 
of  thought,    upon  all   great  questions,  temporary  and  provi- 
sional. 

Philosophical  opinion,  as  it  prevails  at  the  present  moment, 
may  be  divided  into  the  three  systems  of  the  physiologists, 
the  theologians,  and  the  eclectics.  The  doctrines  of  the  pi  y- 
siologists  are  founded  upon  the  application  of  the  Baconian 
method  of  philo-^ophizing  to  the  investigation  of  mind.  The 
writings  of  Locke  and  Condillac  had  begun  to  banish'd  priori 
reasoning  from  moral  science  ;  and  Cabanis,  by  developing 
the  relations  between  the  brain  and  the  other  viscera,  in  the 
production  of  thoughts  and  volitions,  had  firmly  fixed  the 
foundations  of  a  theory  of  mental  phenomena,  from  which 
all  gratuitous  hypothesis  might  strenuously  be  rejected. 
Laying  aside  every  consideration  of  first  causes,  (as  b''ing 
beyond  the  reagh  of  experiment,)  the  physiological  philoso- 
phers confine  their  researches  to  the  phenomena  of  mind  : 
these  they  have  found  to  be  in  dependence  upon  the  physical 
conditions  of  the  organs  by  which  they  are  manifested  ;  and 


FRENCH  PHILOSOPHY.  119 

they  have  not  hesitated  to  make  the  structure  of  man  the 
basis  of  their  inquiries  iuto  his  moral  nature.  Every  sepa- 
rate sensation  and  desire,  they  affirm,  is  a  phenomenon, 
which  has  its  origin  in  physical  causes,  and  is  derived  from 
laws  of  hving  energy,  common  to  the  whole  machine.  To 
understand  these  causes,  the  animal  structure  must  b^  analyz- 
ed,  and  its  modes  of  action  ascertained.  Whatev^er  can  thus 
be  discovered,  ranges  amongst  those  unquestionable  facts 
which  constitute  real  knowledge  :  whatever  transcends  this 
mode  of  investigadon,  must  be  taken  as  unknown  and  undis- 
coverable  ;  the  happiest  guesses,  the  most  plausible  hypo- 
theses  being  only  ignes  falui,  "  lights  th  it  lead  astray  ;"  and 
principles,  incapable  of  conducting  to  profitable  conse- 
quences. 

According  to  the  physiologist,  all  ideas  are  referable  to 
sensation,  and  without  sensation  there  is  no  consciousness. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  abstract  conscience  of  existence, 
independent  of  impression  ;  but  we  are  conscious  that  we 
exist  in  some  definite  way,  well  or  ill,  happy  or  miserable,  in 
vigour  or  languor,  drowsy  or  wakeful,  and  always  under 
some  specific  form,  environ^ge,  and  internal  mode  of  af- 
fection. Consciousness  then  is  a,  perception  of  the  physi- 
ological  complex  with  its  present  accidents  ;  and  nothing 
analogous     to   that    abstraction     which     the     French    call 

With  respect  to  the  nature  of  truth,  the  greatest  certitude 
we  possess,  concerns  the  reality  of  self,  and  the  realiiy  of 
our  sensations  ;  and  next  to  that,  if  not  perhaps  in  an  equal 
degree,  the  reality  of  the  external  world. 

The  knowledge  of  the  external  world  is  confined  to  pheno- 
mena,  we  cannot  know  any  thing  of  first  causes,  because, 
being  first,  they  are  not  referable  to  forgone  phenomena, 
by  which  alone  could  be  further  explained,  demonstration 
is  but  the  pursuit  of  an  idea  to  its  original  sensation.  Truth 
consists  either  in  the  conformity  of  an  idea  with  the  sensa- 
tions in  which  it  originated,  or  in  the  conformity  of  language 
with  itself,  and  with  the  ideas,  of  which  it  is  the  sign.  To 
require  a  proof  of  the  reality  of  our  sensations  is  therefore  an 
absurdity.  The  senses  of  a  well  organized  individual,  act- 
ing healtliily,  never  deceive  ;  the  deception,  when  it  exists, 
lies  in  the  induction.  An  angular  body  rapidly  revolving, 
may  appear  round  ;  this  is  no  deception  of  sense.  We  see 
the  body  as  we  ought  to  see  it,  agreeably  to  the  laws  which 


120  FRENCH  PHILOSOPHY. 

govern  the  action  of  the  retina  :  but  the  inference  that  it  is 
round,  i3  an  erroneous  induction,  formed  on  an  hasty  andim- 
perfect  analogy. 

Induction  consists  merely  in  an  association  of  ideas.  When 
an  unknown  phenomenon  presents  itself,  possessing  a  resem- 
blance  to  a  known  one,  all  the  attributes  of  the  latter  con- 
nected with  the  points  of  resemblance,  are  mentally  attached 
at  once,  and  without  inquiry,  to  the  former.  We  are  led  by 
a  primitive  law  of  the  organization  to  this  result.  We  feel, 
for  example,  within  ourselves  the  will  and  the  -power  to  pro- 
duce certain  changes  in  externals ;  and  we  find  that  those 
changes  only  occur  under  the  influence  of  that  power.  This 
idea  we  express  by  saying  that  we  are  the  cause  of  such 
changes  and  that  those  changes  are  the  effects  of  our  volitions. 
When  we  see  other  changes  take  place  in  nature  without  our 
interference,  but  with  a  like  unifonhity  of  circumstance,  we 
are  led  by  association  to  infer  the  presence  of  a  force  analo- 
gous-to  our  will,  which  is  the  cause  of  such  changes.  Hence, 
first  mythology,  and  afterwards  the  doctrine  of  philosophic 
causation. 

Knowledge  being  bounded  by,  sensation,  it  is  possible  that 
there  may  be  many  entities  which  man  can  never  know, 
simply  because  they  may  not  be  capable  of  exciting  a  sen- 
sation. Induction  leads  us  in  some  cases  to  surmise  the 
operation  of  such  entities,  as  causes  of  phenomena  we  do 
not  comprehend.  These  agents  are  objects  of  faith,  but 
cannot  be  of  knowledge ;  we  are  not  warranted  in  drawing 
any  philosophic  conclusions  from  them  ;  nor  in  trusting  them 
as  indications  of  ulterior  truth. 

The  oiisapprehension  of  this  rule  of  logic  has  originated 
the  philosophical  systems  both  of  the  idealists  and  of  the 
materialists  ;  which  in  their  turn  have  given  occasion  for 
that  of  the  sceptics.  Concerning  the  hypothetical  bases  of 
these  systems,  the  physiologist  makes  no  assertion:  he  is  con- 
scious that  he  does  not,  and  cannot  possess  any  certain  know, 
ledge  of  the  matter-  and,  remaining  contented  with  an  igno- 
rance which  is  inevitable,  and  which  is  indifferent  to  his  hap- 
piness, he  refrains  from  tormenting  himself  with  idle  and 
useless  guesses. 

The  modesty  and  simplicity  of  the  physiological  system, 
together  with  the  identity  of  its  method  with  that  which  has 
thrown  such  a  light  on  the  natural  sciences  ;  and  which  in- 
deed  gives  to  metaphysics  the  certainty  of  a  natural  science, 


FSEJrCH  PHILOSOPHY,  121 

liave  deservedly  rendered  this  doctrine  popular  in  France,* 
)Rut  there  are  every  where  ardent,  imaginative  dispositions, 
which  are  tormented  with  an  insatiate  desire  to  penetrate  the 
mysteries  of  nature  and  of  mind,  and  whose  elevated  notions 
of  the  dignity  of  humanity  require  that  nothing  shall  be  hid- 
den from  the  scrutiny  of  man.  Persons  thus  inclined,  when 
checked  in  their  career  by  the  boundaries  of  demonstration, 
plunge  unhesitatingly  into  a  world  of  conjectures,  and  go  on 
reasoning  from  hypothesis  to  hypothesis,  till  they  have  proved, 
at  least  to  their  own  satisfaction,  whatever  they  require.  This 
disposition  is  in  itself  a  disease  :  in  the  healthy  mind  there  is 
a  just  balance  between  the  rational  and  the  imaginative  fa- 
culties, which  alone  leads  to  the  attainment  of  truth.  But 
there  are  heads  so  organized,  that  the  imagination  takes  a 
decided  lead,  to  the  exclusion  of  an  wholesome  exercise  of 
,  the  judgment.  In  few  individuals  is  the  balance  between 
•these  faculties  perfect ;  and  according  as  the  one  or  the 
other  of  them  prevail,  men  will  attach  themselves  to  an  ima- 
ginative or  a  rational  philosophy  :  for  abstraction  being 
made  of  the  influence  of  mode,  philosophy  is  very  much  an 
affair  of  temperament. 

Of  imaginative  philosophy,  there  reign  two  violently  op- 
posed, but  in  reality  closely  allied  sects  in  Paris,  which  divide 
with  physiological  metaphysics  the  youth  of  France  :  the 
one  is  called  the  tlieological,  the  other  the  eclectic  system. 

Of  the  theological  sect,  it  would  be  asserting  too  much,  to 
say  that  its  followers  are  led  by  a  philosophical  view  of  the 
questions  at  issue,  to  throw  themselves  info  the  arras  of  faith. 
Adopting  the  dogma  of  the  deceptive  tendencies  of  sensation, 
and  of  the  weakness  of  human  reason,  they  can  find  no 
other  basis  of  certainty,  than  in  general  agreement,  that  is 
to  say,  in  tradition  and  authority.  At  the  head  of  this  school 
are  Lemaistre,  (whose  work  on  indifference  in  matters  of 
religion  had  considerable  temporary  vogue)  ;  La  Mennais, 
the  proneur  of  the  Pope  ;  and  the  Baron  Eckstein,  a  German, 
and  editor  of  a  journal  called  "  Le  Calholique."  To  this 
sect  belong  likewise,  a  small  party  of  political  economists, 
called  Les  Producteurs,  who  hold  to  authority  as  the  test  of 
truth,  though  they  are  not  willing  to  make   the  Pope  its  de- 

*  The  physiological  philosophy  may  still  be  said  to  be  the  prevalent 
doctrine  in  France.  Its  present  chief  is  the  celebrated,  and  highly- 
gifted  Broussais,  the  most  original  thinker  of  modern  pathologists,  and 
an  acute  metaphysician.  See  particularly  his  work,  sur  rhritalion  «; 
ia  Folie. 

Vol.  I.— 1 1 


122  FEENCH  PHILOSOPHY. 

posltory.  The  apostle  of  the  Producteurs  was  St.  Simon, 
"vvho,  possessed  of  some  talent,  was  discredited  by  his  vices. 
A  dissipator,  and  consequently  often  in  distress,  he  is  said  to 
have  once  made  a  visit  to  Copet,  to  propose  himself  to  Ma- 
dame de  Stael  as  the  father  of  a  child,  to  whom  she  was  to 
perform  the  duties  of  maternity.  "  You,"  he  said,  '*  are  the 
first  woman  of  your  age,  I  the  greatest  philosopher  :  a  child 
of  ours  must  necessarily  be  a  wonderful  creature,"  &c.  &c. 
&c.  At  the  death  of  this  man,  his  follies  were  forgotten, 
and  his  reveries  became  revelations.  "  Moses,"  it  was  ir- 
reverently said,  "  was  the  apostle  of  force,  Jesus  of  per- 
suasion, and  St.  Simon  of  sentiment." 

The  Producteurs  were  originally  composed  of  a  knot  of 
young  men  who  began  to  co-operate  for  the  purposes  of 
an  active  political  opposition  to  the  restored  government ; 
but  being  disappointed  in  their  schemes,  they  turned  their  at- 
tention to  speculative  research.  The  end  of  their  wishes  is  a 
government  committed  to  the  supremacy  of  talent.  Their  re- 
ligious system  is  a  pantheism,  but  one  very  different  from 
that  of  Spinosa.  They  do  not  believe  in  spirit  as  distinct 
from  matter,  or  in  matter  separated  from  spirit  :  the  division 
of  these  entities  is,  according  to  them,  a  mere  mental  abstrac- 
tion— God  is  the  universe,  endowed  with  intelligence  and  con- 
sciousness. Man  is  a  part  of  that  universe,  living  at  once  by 
his  own  individual  vitality  and  by  that  of  the  universe  of  which 
he  forms  a  part.  Their  belief  in  the  mission  of  Christ  is  a 
consequence  of  their  idea,  that  every  truth  is  a  divine  revela- 
tion. Christ,  they  say,  first  told  men  to  love  each  other  ;  he 
first  taught  the  doctrine  of  future  rewards  and  punishments, 
and  broached  the  idea  of  an  universal  society  or  brotherhood 
of  all  human  beings  :  this  was  a  revelation.  In  God,  and  in 
man,  they  acknowledge  a  Trinity,  composed  of  a  faculty  of 
intelligence,  a  faculty  of  action,  and  a  faculty  of  love  ;  sym- 
pathy, knowledge,  action  ;  or  love,  science,  and  industry. 
Their  political  system  approaches  somewhat  to  that  of  Mr. 
Owen  :  they  propose  the  suppression  of  hereditary  property, 
and  the  conversion  of  the  government  into  a  bank,  empower- 
ed to  issue  capital  to  individuals  in  proportion  to  their  power 
of  employing  it.  They  do  not,  however,  advocate  a  com- 
munity of  goods  ;  which,  considering  the  various  capacity  and 
industry  of  individuals,  would,  they  affirm,  be  an  injustice. 

This  exposure  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Producteurs,  brief 
and  imperfect  as  it  is,  suffices  to  the  inference  that  the  mem- 
bers  of  the  sect  cannot  be  numerous ;  its  principles  are  too 


FRENCH  PHILOSOPH\r.  123 

crude  and  inconsistent,  to  suit  the  tastes  either  of  a  well  edu- 
cated  mind,  or  of  a  mere  disriple  of  routine.  If  indeed  all 
the  various  sects  and  subdivisions  of  the  theological  system 
be  taken  together,  their  numi.ers  would  still  be  small.  Their 
fundamental  doctrine  of  the  vahdity  of  authority  as  a  test  of 
truth,  is  so  repugnant  to  the  whole  experience  of  man,  and 
to  the  history  of  science,  that  it  could  never  become  popu- 
lar in  such  a  country  as  France,  even  if  its  alliance  with  the 
abuses  of  Catholicism  did  not  render  it  odious  and  suspected. 
The  eclectic  philosophy,,  on  the  contrary,  has  obtained  an 
extended  temporary  vogue,  and  can  boast  numerous  disciples, 
especially  amongst  the  younger  students.  Cousin,  Villemaine, 
and  Guizot,  with  the  principal  writers  for  the  "  Globe,"  all 
distinguished  for  erudition,  eloquence,  and  imposing  talents, 
are  at  the  head  of  the  sect,  and  are  powerful  agents  for  dis- 
seminating its  doctrines.  These  doctrines,  as  set  forth  in 
the  teachings  of  the  professors,  have  undergone  some  varia- 
tions, but  they  vibrate  between  the  mysticism  of  Kant,  and 
the  more  plausiple  petitiones  principii  of  the  Scotch  school. 
Cousin,  the  great  heresiarch  of  the  sect,  has,  we  are  told, 
declined  from  that  high  admiration  of  the  German  philosophy 
which  he  brought  with  him  on  his  first  return  from  the  north,* 
and  it  is  no  longer  fashionable  to  talk  of  "  obscurity  throw- 
ing a  light  on  the  profundity  of  nature."  Still,  however,  ec- 
lecticism, notwithstanding  the  name,  is  essentially  pure  and 
undiluted  Platonism,  and  its  reasonings  are  conducted  on  the 
d  posteriori  methods  of  the  ancients.  Pronouncing  dogma- 
tically upon  the  nature  of  mind,  the  eclectics  assume  the  im- 
materiality of  its  essence,  and  its  exemption  from  the  laws  of 
material  causation.  Taking  conscience,  or  the  view  of  what 
passes  in  their  own  minds,  as  the  basis  of  all  certainty,  they 
erect  reason  into  an  independent  and  elementary  principle, 
an  oracle  from  which,  however  contradictory  its  results,  there 
is  no  appeal.  "  Reason,"  they  affirm,  "  is  that  which  places 
man  in  relation  with  the  absolute. f     It  is  an  emanation  from 

*  This  was  satirized  in  the  Voile  Bleu,  a  vaudeville  of  much  fancy. 
The  following  speech  was  intended  as  a  parody  on  the  Globists. 

'•  Je  vais  combattre  ici  effl-ontemenl  le  mateiialisme  et  le  scepticisme, 
d'ou  decoulent,i  grands  flots  I'idealisme,  le  mysticisme,  le  sensualisme,  et 
reclectisnie,  introduits  dans  les  annales  de  la  creation;  et  je  diraia  Thor 
norable  collegue:  Es  tu  philosophe?  Sais  tu  que  nousavons  en  philoso- 
phic, le  moi,  et  le  non  moi?  Connais-tu  ton  toi,  toi?  Le  chatelain  n'aeu 
qu'unefille,  parcequ'iln'aqu'uneidiie.  As-tuTidL-e  de  I'unet  du  multiple, 
du  fini  et  de  I'infini;  del'^treetdu  paraitre,  de  la  substance  etdu  pheno- 
tnene,  du  necessaire  et  du  contingent?  &c.  &.c.  &c." 

t  "  The  absolute"  had  gotten  possession  of  the  imagination  of  all 


124  PRENCa  PHILOSOPHr. 

God,  who  is  himself  the  absolute."  The  "  moi"  (a  subsfan^ 
tive,  ens,  wholly  independent  of  the  visible  and  tangible  sub' 
ject)  "  is  endowed  with  the  faculty  of  perceiving,  willing,, 
and  conceiving.  It  is  placed  in  relation  with  the  visible 
world,  by  means  of  the  senses,  and  with  the  invisible  worldr 
by  reason.  Reason  confers  all  that  is  not  furnished  by  ex- 
perience  ;  principles,  laws,  both  of  persons  and  things,  and 
the  supreme  law.  Laws  being  necessary  and  universal,  can- 
not  be  derived  from  that  which  is  personal  and  contingent. 
Laws  are  absolute,  reason  is  therefore  absolute,  belonging" 
neither  to  space  nor  time.  It  appears  individual  to  man^ 
while  it  preserves  its  impersonality." 

These  propositions,  which  are  all  either  self-evident  beg- 
gings of  the  question,  assertions  purely  gratuitous,  or  phrases 
devoid  of  any  clear  and  intelligible  meaning,  lead  to  the  in- 
ference that  the  visible  and  the  invisible  should  have  each 
its  own  logic  ;  and  that  in  proportion  as  the  subjects  of  our 
reasonings  are  remote  from  the  evidence  of  the  senses,  they 
are  released  from  the  chains  of  a  rigorous  and  severe  dia- 
lectic. Retired  in  the  silence  and  the  darkness  of  his  study, 
the  eclectic  affirms  that  the  metaphysician  has  only  to  ex- 
clude all  ideas  of  sense,  to  consult  his  reason,  and  take  cog- 
nizance of  what  passes  in  his  own  mind  (that  is,  to  syllogize 
with  general  terms,  which  in  proportion  to  their  generality 
have  less  and  less  of  positive  meaning  attached  to  them)  in 
order  to  arrive  at  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  immaterial 
world  (that  is  of  his  own  conception  of  these  generalities). 
*'  Affecting  a  contempt  for  matter,"  says  Broussais,  in  his- 

Paris,  when  a  singular  process  in  the  law  courts  brought  it  into  tempor 
rary  ridicule.  A  certain  Hoiniwroukskey  had  sold  all  his  secrets  in 
morals  and  physics  to  an  amateur  in  philosophy,  for  an  enormous  sum 
of  money.  The  dupe  paid  the  stipulated  price,  and  retired  with  the  hard- 
named  charlatan  for  three  years,  to  be  thoroughly  embued  with  the 
learning  of  his  master.  At  the  end  of  this  period,  the  scholar  became 
dissatisfied  at  finding  that,  contrary  to  all  good  faith  and  fair  dealing, 
his  master  had  not  put  him  in  possession  of  "  the  absolute."  "  The  ab- 
solute" he  would  have ;  and,  accordingly,  to  law  he  went,  to  enforce 
its  communication  ; — oflferintc,  at  the  same  time,  to  double  his  original 
payment.  On  cross-examination,  he  admitted  having  received  value 
for  his  money,  save  and  except  in  the  article  of  "'the  absolute,"  which 
had  been  so  traitorously  withheld  from  him  ;  and  for  that,  he  entreated 
the  interference  of  the  court.  But  what  could  be  done  ?  The  judge 
and  jury  could  not  force  the  defendant  to  make  the  plaintiff  understand 
«' the  absolute  :" — they  did  not  understand  it  themselves.  So  nothing 
was  left  but  to  compel  the  plaintiff  to  pay  his  costs,  and  leave  him  ta 
seek  "  the  absolute"  elsewhere,  if  he  was  not  already  sick  of  the  re- 
search. 


FRBIfCH  PHILOSOPHY.  125 

admirable  exposure  of  the  weaknesses  and  errors  of  the  ec- 
lectics,* "  they  adopt  a  figurative  style  to  embody  their  no- 
tions  (which  they  strive  to  form  without  the  aid  of  the  senses) 
of  the  causes  by  which  it  is  moved ;  and  wliich  (it  is  assum- 
ed) are  entities,  distinct  from  the  substance  in  which  they 
operate.  The  logical  juggles  which  these  figures  of  speech 
enable  the  speculator  to  perform,  pass  for  discoveries  in  the 
invisible  world  ;  though  whatever  of  positive  is  attached  to 
such  phrases,  is  all  derived  from  ideas  of  sensation.  It  is 
to  this  very  figurativeness,  so  well  suited  to  rhetoi'ic  and  to 
poetry,  but  so  obviously  subversive  of  all  rigour  in  reasoning 
and  truth  in  philosophy,  that  the  sect  owes  its  success.  It 
is  this  that  enables  its  professors  to  be  impassioned,  eloquent, 
and  seductive,  in  exact  proportion  as  it  renders  them  vague, 
inconsequential,  and  obscure." 

To  this  poetry,  and  to  the  ignorance  which  Napoleon  hud 
forced  upon  the  young  men  of  France,  the  vogue  of  the 
eclectic  system  may  mainly  be  attributed.  Tlie  doctrine  is 
however  especially  adapted  to  the  ardent  and  impetuous  dis- 
position of  youth.  The  sentiment  of  vitality  is  at  that  pe- 
riod of  life,  so  intense,  that  whatever  promises  to  enlarge 
the  bounds  of  existence,  either  in  duration  or  in  comprehen- 
sion, IS  received  witli  avidity.  Whatever  addresses  itself  to 
the  imagination,  and  plunges  the  auditor  into  a  world  of 
vague  reverie,  makes  -a  stronger  impression  than  can  be 
received  from  a  cool  appeal  to  analysis  and  experiment. 
This  is  a  powerful  seduction  to  those,  who,  conscious  of 
great  powers,  are  anxious  to  appear  before  the  public  as 
teachers  and  leaders.  The  demonstrator  of  facts  cannot  at 
the  same  time  exhibit  himself,  nor  can  he  draw  round  his 
€hair  that  greater  mass  of  unreasoning  disciples,  whom  the 
repetition  of  a  jargon  elevates  in  their  own  esteem,  and 
whose  acclamations  contribute  largely  to  profit  and  to  popu- 
larity. 

Another  great  cause  of  the  success  of  this  philosophy  is 
its  novelty  ;  for  the  memory  of  Plato  had  become  extinct  in 
France,  and  the  doctrines  of  Kant  were  but  partially  known. 
The  generation  which  has  sprung  up  since  the  revolution, 
entertain  no  trifling  contempt  for  the  race  which  immediate- 
ly preceded  them,  and  which  was  contented  to  He  down  and 
crouch  beneatli  the  iron  despotism  of  Napoleon.  Astonish- 
ed likewise  at  their  own   rapid  progress  in  literature  and 

*  Sur  rirritation  et  la  Folic. 
II* 


126  FRENCH  PHIlOSOPHYk 

science,  they  cannot  but  be  aware  of  the  comparative  igno- 
rance of  their  mihtary  seniors,  and  they  look  down  with  a 
presumptuous  pity  upon  every  thing  that  is  not  of  their  own 
times.  This  feehng  has  been  much  aggravated  by  the  dis- 
position of  the  chai-te,  which  excludes  from  the  chamber  of 
deputies  all  men  below  the  age  of  forty,  and  which  has  engen- 
dered a  consequent  jealousy  between  the  excluded  and  the 
privileged  :  the  disputes  on  romanticism,  which  are  princi- 
pally conducted  between  the  young  and  the  old,  have  added 
not  a  little  to  the  same  consequence. 

Another  cause  favourable  to  the  reception  of  any  new  phi-i 
losophy,  was  the  prevalent  misapprehension  of  the  physiolo- 
gical doctrine,  which  confounded  it  with  the  dogmatic  athe- 
ism of  the  Holbach  school.  The  "  longing  after  immorta- 
lity" is  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  instinct  of  self-pre- 
servation, which  is  the  primum  muhile  of  the  moral  machine  ; 
and  even  they  who  were  the  determined  objectors  to  the 
scheme  of  revealed  religion,  were  still  shocked  at  the  sang 
froid  of  the  dogmatic  materialist,  and  shrunk  from  the  an- 
nihilation which  was  the  last  term  of  his  system.  The  phy. 
siologists,  it  is  true,  affirm  nothing  concerning  the  first  cause 
of  living  phenomena  ;  still  less  do  they  impeach  the  existence 
of  an  immortal  entity,  not  necessarily  connected  with  the  or- 
ganization :  but  in  demonstrating  that  our  knowledge  of 
such  an  entity  cannot  be  so  precise  and  satisfactory  as  our 
cognizance  of  a  chemical  or  mechanical  fact,  in  drawing  a 
firm  line  between  the  domain  of  science*  and  that  of  faith, 
they  were  open  to  misapprehension  ;  and  few,  if  any,  took 
the  pains  of  clearing  up  the  mistake.  To  obtain  demonstra- 
tion where  demonstration  is  strictly  impossible,  and  to  con- 
found theological  belief  with  mathematical  certainty,  the 
lofty  promises  of  idealism  were  listened  to  with  fond  credu- 
lity :  and  the  constant  antithesis  between  an  elevating,  an 
ennobling,  an  enlarged,  and  expansive  system,  and  a  nar- 
row, circumscribed,  and  debasing  doctrine,  begat  a  preju- 
dice,  where  it  should  have  provoked  inquiry. 

Seduced  by  these  causes,  the  partisans  of  eclecticism  do 
not  see  how  closely  its  dogmas  are  identical  with  those  of  the 
theologians,  whose  talents  they  deride,  and  whose  preten- 
sions they  reject  with  indignation  ;  nor  do  they  perceive 
that  the  reveries  obtained  by  a  forced  exclusion  of  the  dic- 
tates of  the  senses,  are  nearly  allied  to  the  delusions  of  de-* 
iirium  :  an  acquaintance  with  the  "  Confessions  of  an  Opiura 


FREXCH  SCULPTURE.  127 

Eater,"  would  introduce  them  to  a  philosophy  scarcely  more 
transceadental  than  their  own. 

The  activity  which  reigns  among  the  leaders  of  the  sect 
has  given  it  a  prominence  in  society  beyond  its  intrinsic 
weight.  Numerous  as  its  follov.ers  may  be,  it  is  far  from 
universally  prevalent ;  and  every  day  is  taking  something 
from  its  ^clat  and  fascination.  Its  temporary  vogue  is  not, 
however,  to  be  taken  as  a  mark  of  retrogradation  on  the  iiu- 
man  mind,  or  as  a  pure  and  unmixed  evil.  It  was  a  neces- 
sary  event  in  the  great  series  of  consequences  derived  from 
the  restoration  ;  and  the  extraordinary  talents  it  has  called 
into  exercise  have  been  favourable  to  the  intellectual  move- 
ment which  the  times  require.  All  discussion  is  good  ;  it  is 
a  touchstone  of  truth,  constantly  necessary  to  prevent  indif- 
ference, and  to  shake  the  ever-growing  influence  of  authority. 
Whatever  falsehood  there  may  be  in  the  doctrines,  will  dis- 
appear, as  it  already  is  doing  in  Germany,  before  the  zeal 
for  solid  instruction,  which  is  brought  to  the  inquiry  ;  but  the 
shock  which  has  been  given  to  opinion  will  remain,  and  it 
will  impel  philosophy  to  more  important  investigations,  and 
forward  the  propagation  and  the  confirmation  of  irrefragable 
science. 


•      FRENCH  SCULPTURE. 

OivE  of  the  first  objects  that  struck  me  among  the  physical 
novelties  of  Paris  was  the  Pont  Louis  XVI.  Until  the  year 
1787,  there  was  but  one  carriage  communication  between  the 
Fauxbourgs  St.  Germaine  and  St.  Honore,  which  was  by  the 
Pont  Royal.  A  simple  hac,  or  ferry,  was  the  only  pass  from 
one  shore  of  the  Seine  to  the  other,  at  the  point  where  the 
beautiful  bridge  of  Louis  XVI.  now  offers  so  spendid  an  ave- 
nue to  the  chamber  of  deputies.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  coup 
d'ceil  afforded  at  this  point  is,  perhaps,  the  finest  that  the  in- 
terior of  any  city  in  the  world  presents ;  and  there  is  some- 
thing so  noble  in  the  bridge  itself  (with  all  the  faults  which 
architectural  criticism  can  assign  to  it)  that,  in  my  ignorant 
admiration,  I  had  alwavs  considered  it  as  complete ;  and 
thought  that  it  did  equal  honour  to  the  taste  and  imagination 
of  Monsieur  Peyronnet,  its  designer  and  constructor.     It  ap- 


12S  l^RENCH  SCtTlPTUREi 

pears,  however,  that  I  was  misfaken,  and  tJiat  the  square  pe- 
destals  which  simply  cut  the  balustrade,  when  I  crossed  it 
daily  in  1820,  were  intended  to  support  statues,  which,  to  my 
surprise,  I  found  erected  upon  them  in  1829. 

These  statues  are  of  white  marble,  and  twelve  feet  high. 
They  are  all  executed  with  more  or  less  of  the  novelty  of 
conception,  which  distinguishes  every  thing  of  the  present 
day  in  France  :  but  the  one  which  engaged  my  especial  at- 
tention,  as  I  first  passed  the  bridge,  was  that  of  the  Prince  de 
Conde.  It  contradicted  all  my  preconceived,  opinions  and 
tastes,  as  wanting  the  repose  and  stillness  which  are  the  cha- 
racteristics of  ancient  art.  In  this  beautiful  statue  there  was 
not  the  sublime  calm,  the  monumental  immobility,  the  infec- 
tious solemnity,  which  makes  one  tread  lightly  and  breathe 
low,  in  passing  along  the  galleries  of  the  Vatican,  as  if  the 
godlike  creatures  there  represented  were  themselves  present 
in  their  silent  divinity,  to  impose  awe,  and  to  command  ado- 
ration. But  in  its  place  was  to  be  found  a  quality  of  an  op- 
posite and  perhaps  equal  merit — living,  moving,  exciting  pas- 
sionate humanity.  The  very  pedestal  trembles  under  the 
violent  pressure  of  the  indignant  and  animated  form  it  sup- 
ports. The  sculptor  has  represented  Le  Grand  Conde,  at 
the  moment  when  the  Prince  fiings  his  baton  of  command  in- 
to the  enemy's  lines,  at  Fribourjr.  His  right  hand  grasps  his 
sword ;  while  the  other  seems  to  hurl  defiance  in  the  teeth 
of  a  despised  enemy.  The  attitude  is  dramatic,  as  all  pas- 
sionate attitudes  must  be.  The  features  and  countenance  are 
illustrations  of  Rossuet's  coteniporary  description  of  this 
"  thunder-bolt  of  war."  They  exiiibit  the  "  coup  d'oeil  admi- 
rable" the  "imperious  and  sometimes  violent  spirit  of  com- 
mand which  distinguished  him,  especially  in  time  of  action.'' 
All  that  was  bad  or  good,  great  or  mischievous,  in  this  bold, 
restless,  and  unprincipled  warrior,  is  here  fully  expressed.* 
The  face  is  a  portrait  ;  and  the  play  of  the  muscles,  and  the 
rage  which  agitates  the  features,  are  moral  indications  that 
sculptured  biography  has  never  so  expressed  before.  In  the 
cumbrous  dress  of  the  times — a  solecism  against  all  received 
ideas  of  the  most  classic  of  the  arts — there  is  a  flutter  which 
corresponds  with  the  movement  of  the  figure,  and  that  takes 
from  its  heaviness.  It  looks  as  if  a  breeze,  blowing  up  the 
Seine,  was  waving  the  plumes  and  floating  the  silken  scarf. 

*  It  if  said  that  a  female  of  tie  lower  rank  of  life,  on  seeing  this  statue 
exclaimed,  •'  Ma  fine,  c'est  comme  un  orage !" 


FRENCH  SCULPTURE.  129 

There  is  a  boldness  in  this  original  conception  not  unmingled 
with  danger  :  for  the  harsh  and  violent  outlines  which  passion 
affects,  are,  in  nature,  relieved,  by  the  suddenness  of  their 
transition.  The  eye  does  not  dwell  on  them  sufficiently  long 
to  lose  their  moral,  in  their  physical  effect.  But  in  the  arts, 
and  especially  in  sculpture,  where  form  is  not  mingled  with 
colour,  the  angular  awkwardness  of  passionate  gesticulation 
being  permanent,  has  a  tendency  to  excite  in  the  beholder  a 
sympathetic  pain,  such  as  the  actor  would  himself  sustain, 
in  the  long  maintenance  of  so  constrained  an  attitude.  From 
this  difficulty  (which  is  only  to  be  vanquished  by  great  art) 
the  ancients  have  shrunk ;  and  I  was  half  afraid  to  express 
the  admiration  I  felt  for  this  fine  statue,  lest  I  might  be  wrong, 
according  to  rule,  though  right  according  to  impression.  In 
the  statues  of  Du  Guesclin  and  of  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,* 
a  more  tranquil  pose  and  flowing  drapery  approach  nearer  to 
the  Greek  model ;  but  in  the  figure  of  that  illustrious  sea- 
man, Duquesne,  (the  conqueror  of  the  Spanish  flotilla  in 
1639,)  in  that  of  the  gallant  Duguay-Trouin,  at  the  moment 
when  he  orders  the  attack  on  Rio  Janeiro  (1711),  and  in  the 
animated  statue  of  Tourville,f  the  genius  of  romantic  sculp- 
ture returns.  They  are  full  of  movement,  and  are  clothed 
in  the  habiliments  of  the  times.  The  figures,  again,  of  Col- 
bert, Sully,  Suger,  and  Bayard,:]:  in  their  pose  and  drapery, 
are  middle  terms  between  the  severity  of  the  ancients  and 
the  innovations  of  the  modern  school ;  while  those  of  Suf- 
fren  and  Turenne  §  re-call  more  of  the  heavy  attempts  of 
French  statuary  on  the  revival  of  the  arts.  Such,  at  least, 
was  the  impression  made  upon  me  by  this  unexpected  popu- 
lation of  the  Pont-neuf.  On  the  relative  professional  merits 
of  these  works  of  art  I  do  not  feel  myself  competent  to  speak 
in  detail,  and  in  venturing  even  on  these  general  remarks,  I 
would  rather  be  understood  as  giving  the  feelings  of  one  not 
unsusceptible  of  graphic  beauty,  than  as  offering  a  judgment 
grounded  on  the  principles  of  the  connoisseur.  Considered 
in  its  ensemble,  the  effect  of  the  recent  addition  to  the  Pont 
Louis  XVI.,  is  not  pleasing.  The  figures  come  too  near  to 
the  eye  of  the  passenger  for  their  size  ;  and  with  relation  to 
the  bridge  itself,  they  are  too  gigantic.  This  defect  is  uni- 
versally felt ;  and  it  is,  I  believe,  intended  to  remove  the 

*  By  Messieurs  Bridan  and  Ramey,  p6re. 

t  By  Messrs.  Roguier,  Dunasquier,  and  Marin. 

t  By  Messrs.  Espercieux,  Milhomnie,  Stouf,  and  Moutoni. 

0  By  Messrs.  Lesueur  and  Gois, 


130  FKENOH  SCULPTURE. 

statues  to  the  Champs  Elys^es,  where  they  will  certainly  ap- 
pear more  at  their  ease  than  in  the  narrow  defile  which  they 
now  seem  to  obstruct. 

The  statue  of  Conde  was  the  first  that  caught  my  eye 
amidst  the  general  group,  and  gained  possession  of  my  ima- 
gination;  and  the  admiration  it  inspired,  was  just  of  a  cha- 
racter and  colour  to  awaken  a  strong  desire  to  know  the  ar- 
tist, whose  name,  I  learned,  was  David,  a  name  long  conse- 
crated in  the  history  of  the  arts.  It  happened  that  on  the 
evening  of  the  very  day  on  which  this  occurred,  I  went  to 
one  of  the  Wednesday  evenings  of  the  Baron  Gerard  ;  when, 
amidst  the  many  recognitions  of  old  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, and  the  presentations  of  new,  1  observed  a  young 
man,  who  looked  at  me  so  intensely,  that  I  thought  he  might 
be  one  of  "  the  thousand  and  one  "  particular  friends  whose 
acquaintance  I  had  made  in  France  or  Italy.  While  I  was 
preparing  one  of  those  discoiirs  hanals,  in  which  one  is  so 
often  trapped,  asking  the  parenlless  for  their  fathers,  or  the 
divorced  for  their  wives,  Gerard  stepped  up  to  me,  and  said, 
"  There  is  a  young  friend  of  mine  most  desirous,  in  the  first 
place,  of  being  presented  to  you,  and,  in  the  second,  most 
desirous  to  execute  your  bust." 

The  bust  was  a  bore  ;  but  I  asked  his  friend's  name.  "  It 
is  David,"  he  said,  •"'  a  young  and  very  justly  celebrated 
sculptor.  You  have  probably  seen  his  Prince  de  Conde,  on 
the  Pont  Louis  XVI." 

Such  are  the  pleasant  coincidences  of^  a  roving  life.  We, 
noeet,  scattered  over  the  surface  of  remote  and  variegated 
society,  so  many  we  wish  to  know,  and  who  wish  to  know  us, 
not  merely,  perhaps,  for  the  respective  merits  of  the  parties, 
but  for  that  magic  bond,  the  "  vous  me  convenez — je  vous  con- 
viens  /"  I  knew  the  author  of  the  statue  of  Conde  must  be 
in  my  way ;  (be  the  confession  an  epigram  or  an  eloge  ;)  and 
in  the  many  pleasant  hours  we  afterwards  spent  in  his  study 
in  the  faubourg,  while  sitting  for  my  bust, — in  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli,  at  our  hotel, — and  in  the  various  rencontres  of  Pari- 
sian society,  this  first  impression  was  fully  justified,  as  first 
impressions  indeed  very  generally  are. 

Although  David  is  the  sculptor  of  romanticism  par  excel- 
lence, he  has  a  strong  vocation  to  moulding  the  heads  of 
those  who  have  amused  the  public  or  himself,  without  much 
reference  to  sect,  and  still  less  with  a  view  either  to  pecunia- 
ry profit  or  (in  my  instance)  to  permanent  fame.  There 
comes  an  order  from  a  prince  or  a  minister,  from  one  at  th© 


FRENCH  SCULPTUKE.  131 

head  of  power  or  of  fashion  ;  and  a  sitting  is  required  which 
is  to  be  paid  for  at  any  price  the  artist  demands  ;  but  David's 
whole  soul  is  in  some  work  for  which  he  is  to  receive  no- 
thing,— something  at  which  he  is  labouring  con  amore.  He 
is  modelling,  perhaps,  the  noble  bust  of  a  Washington  or  a 
Lafayette,  or  he  is  pourtraying  the  elegant  features  of  a  La 
Marline  ;  or  he  is  chiselling  the  expressive  countenance  of 
his  friend  Meriniee,  or  the  animated  head  of  that  true  son  of 
the  torrid  zone,  Dumas  ;  or  haply  he  is  immortalizinj;  a  dimple 
in  the  round  cheek  of  the  pretty  Delphine  Gay,  or  delineating 
the  lady-like  traits  of  Mad"""'  Tastu,  or  the  antique  profile  of 
the  divine  Pasta,  or  the  French  grace  of  Mad''"'=  Mars  ;  a 
fortune  is  awaiting  him  througli  the  liberality  of  unsought 
greatness,  or  of  royal  patronage  ;  but  he,  good  man,  is  amus- 
ing himself  with  modelling  les  cilebrit^s  for  his  own  particu- 
lar satisfaction,  and  the  pleasure  of  that  rising  generation  of 
taste  and  genius,  to  which  he  himself  belongs  ; — and  great- 
ness must  await  his  better  leisure. 

One  of  the  finest  works  executed  by  this  artist,  which  made 
for  him  a  well-merited  reputation,  is  the  monument  of  Bon- 
champs,  erected  in  the  church  of  St.  Florent,  in  La  Vendee. 
Bonchamps  was  a  Vendean  chiefs  who  perished  in  that 
"  more  than  civil  "  war  which  desolated  his  province.  He 
is  represented  on  a  litter,  and  wounded  to  death  :  the  mo- 
ment  chosen  is  that  at  which  he  demands  of  his.  soldiers  to 
spare  five  hundred  republican  prisoners,  whom  they  were 
about  to  shoot,  to  revenge  his  approaching  death.  Willi  this 
intent  he  is  sculptured  as  rising  from  a  recumbent  position  ; 
and  the  animation  thrown  into  his  movement  expresses  the 
very  sublime  of  a  generous  benevolence,  and  forgetfulness  of 
self  in  the  last  moment  of  existence.  Of  this  monument  an' 
engraving  has  been  executed,  which  enables  me  to  bear  tes- 
timony to  the  grace  and  beauty  of  the  design,  and  to  the 
degree  in  which  the  artist  has.  succeeded,  in  giving  to  stone 
the  animation  of  a  picture. 

Monsieur  David  has  also  received  the  public  approbation 
for  a  statue  of  Fenelon,  with  three  bas  reliefs,  executed  for 
the  town  of  Cambray.  Of  the  has  reliefs,  (which  represent 
traits  in  the  life  of  Fenelon,)  that  which  exhibits  the  arch- 
bishop driving  home  the  stray  cow  of  a  peasant,  is  much 
admired  for  its  noble  simplicity  and  touching  fidelity  to  na- 
ture. 

David  has  also  executed  the  monument  of  Lefevre,  with 
two  figures  of  Victory  crowning  the  bust,  and  on  the  other 


132  FRENCH  SCULPTURE. 

side,  two  trophies,  in  a  pure  taste;  also  the  tomb  of  Count  J 
Bourke  :  both  in  the  cemetery  of  the  Pere  la  Chaise.     At  Lai 
Ferte  Milon  is  placed  his  statue  of  Racine,   which  is  said 
rather  to  represent  the  genius  of  this  tragedian  than  his  per- 
son.    The  poet  is  represented  writing,  half-clothed,  as  if  just 
risen  from  his  bed,  with  a  mantle  thrown  round  his  body  : 
one  hand  is  placed  on  his  heart,  as  if  in  the  act  of  consulting! 
its  dictates.     The  parts  which  remain  undressed  are  consi- 
dered as  the  perfection  of  modelling  ;  "  and  nothing,"    says 
a  cotemporary  critic,  *'  can  be  finer,  more  grand,  or  poetical, 
than  the  conception  and  execution  of  the  whole  piece." 

But  the  morceau  which  has  excited  the  greatest  admiration, 
by  its  perfect  grace,  is  the  statue  of  a  young  Greek  on  the 
tomb  of  Botzaris.  The  infant  is  naked,  couched  upon  the 
stone,  with  the  head  inclining  to  the  left  shoulder.  The  left' 
hand,  holding  a  laurel  crown,  rests  on  the  tomb  ;  the  right  is' 
employed  in  tracing  the  letters  of  the  inscription.  This  po- 
etic  conception  which,  in  the  person  of  the  infant,  figures 
Greece  itself  rising  from  its  tomb,  is  executed  with  a  corres- 
ponding elaborate  finish,  which  preserves  all  the  purity  of 
form  and  grace  of  the  design.  This  statue  is  a  present  to 
the  Greek  government  from  the  artist,  who  regards  the  ac- 
ceptance of  tliis  fruit  of  his  talent,  by  a  free  people,  as  the 
greatest  reward  which  his  art  can  receive. 

I  may  mention  also  his  figures  of  Justice  and  Innocence, 
which  are  in  the  court  of  the  Louvre  ;  and  his  has  relief  on 
the  triumphal  arch  of  the  Carousel,  as  being  highly  esteem- 
ed by  artists.  David  is  at  present  occupied  in  finishing  the 
monument  of  General  Foy,  which  he  executes  gratis,  as  his' 
quota  to  the  national  subscription.  The  General  is  repre- 
sented in  the  tribune  ;  and  there  are  four  has  reliefs,  of  the 
funeral  procession,  a  battle  in  Spain,  the  chamber  of  depu- 
ties, and  two  figures  representing  eloquence  and  war.  We 
accompanied  the  artist  to  visit  this  noble  monument,  worthy 
of  the  illustrious  citizen  to  whom  it  is  raised.  Another  ob- 
ject in  the  visit  to  Pere  la  Chaise,  was  the  tomb  of  Denon. 
His  statue,  in  bronze,  surmounts  his  monument :  his  ashes 
repose  beneath.  His  ashes  ! — This  was  the  only  melan- 
choly day  we  passed  during  our  happy  residence  in  Paris. 

David  is  at  present  occupied  on  a  statue  of  Talma,  for  the 
'\foyer"  of  the  theatre  Francais,  on  a  Saint  Cecilia  for  one 
of  the  Parisian  churches,  and  on  three  large  has  reliefs  from 
the  history  of  St.  Genevieve,  destined  for  the  magnificent 
church  of  that  saint.  The  predilection  which  this  artist  shew* 


FRENCH  SCULPTURE.  133 

for  modelling  the  human  face,  has  led  him  to  execute  a  vast 
variety  of  busts,  both  in  stone  and  bronze,  and  also  many 
medals  of  eminent  persons,  rendering  his  study  a  lion  of  sin- 
gular interest,  independent  of  that  excited  by  the  genius  and 
amiability  of  the  master.  His  bust  of  Visconti  is  in  the  li- 
brary of  the  Institute  ;  his  Francis  the  First  at  Havre  ;  and  a 
copy  in  bronze  he  has  given  to  his  native  town,  Angers.  His 
Henry  the  Second  is  at  Boulogne  ;  and  his  Ambrose  Pare, 
bearing  the  device  of  "je  le  pansay,  et  Dieu  le  giierit,"*  is  a 
present  from  the  sculptor  to  the  ecole  de  m^decine  at  Paris. 
He  has  likewise  given  a  bust  of  Lafaj^ette  to  the  United 
States  ;  one  of  Volney,  to  the  library  of  the  Institute  ;  and 
one  of  M.  Lacepede,  to  the  town  of  Angers.  Among  those 
of  his  works,  which  particularly  struck  me,  werejiis  busts  of 
jCooper^.the  American  novelist,  Jeremy  Benthapi,  Chateau- 
briand, and  Casimir  de  la  Vigne.  In  the  bust  of  Chateaubri- 
and, which  is  much  larger  than  life,  and  terminates  abruptly 
at  the  neck,  there  is  an  expression  as  morally  gigantic  as  it 
is  physically  grand  ;  w  hile  it  was  modelled,  the  eloquent  ori- 
ginal was  employed  in  dictating  his  discours  on  the  liberty  of 
the  press  ;  and  the  inspiration  of  the  author  has  passed  to 
the  sculptor,  and  been  transmitted  to  the  marble. 

The  great  characteristic  of  the  likenesses  of  David,  is  their 
spirituality.  It  is  not  the  material  outlinef  only,  that  he 
gives;  but  the  very  soul  of  the  original,  which  looks  out  of 
the  bust,  and  appears  to  breathe  upon  the  lips.  A  portrait  is 
the  likeness  .of  the  individual,  as  he  is  seen  by  the  artist  ; 
the  resemblance  in  reaching  the'  stone,  or  the  canvass,  has 
passed  through  his  mind  ;  and  it  almost  uniformly  derives 
something  in  this  passage,  which  confers  on  it  a  peculiar  and 
often  indescribable  quality,  common  io  all  the  heads  of  the 
same  master.  In  some  artists,  tiiis  tincture  (if  I  may  so  call 
it)  is  grandeur;  in  others  grace,  in  others  vulgarity  and  com- 
mon place  ;  and  in  some  it  is  a  quality  which  is  felt,  but  not 
reducible  to  language.  In  the  heads  of  Monsieur  David,  the 
common  addition  to  the  individualit)^  of  his  subjects-,  is  an 
elevation,  and  natural  nobility  of  expression,  in  which  intel- 
lectual power  is  blended  with  candour  and  frankness.  All 
his  men  are  patriots,  allhis  women  poets  ;  and  the  circum- 
stance, I  thmk,  must  be   taken   as   a  sure  guarantee  of  the 

*  "I  dress,  butil  is  God  tliut  cures." 

t  If  I  had  my  choce  to  leave  my  head  as  a  legacy  to  those  who  have 
had  the  deepest  interest   in  my  heart,  I  should  select  the  bust  executed 
forme  by  Monsieur  David. 
;     Vol.  I.— 12 


134  MORNINGS  AT  PARIS. 

force  and  truth  of  the  sentiment  in  the  artist  from  whom  they 
tiias  irresistibly  radiate. 


MORNINGS  AT  PARIS. 

Nothing  can  be  more  dehghtful,  more  instructive,  more 
amusing,  than  our  mornings   at  Paris.     One  goes  through  a 
course   of  Uterature,  science,  arts,  politics,  philosophy,  and 
fashion,  toute  encourant ;  laughing,  arguing,  gossiping,  loung- 
ing on  sofas,  or  jumping  into  carriages,  running  in  and  out  of 
public  and  private    edifices  and  collections,  each  in  itself  a 
monument  or  a  museum, — assisting  (as  the  French  phrase  it) 
at  sittings  and  societies   for  the   promotion   of  belles  letlres, 
morals,  education,   agriculture,   manufactures,   religion,  and 
charity,  from  the  royal  and  accredited  "  Institut,"   as  by  law 
established,  to  the  self-authorised  society  philotechnique  com- 
posed of  "  les  enfans  de  bonnes  lettres"  of  both  sexes, — or  to  the 
amateur  concert,  in  which  a  Rossini  or  a  Paer  do  not  disdain  to 
bear  a  part.  This  peripatetic  sort  of  study,  this  ambulatory  can- 
vassing of  objects,  places,  and  persons,  is  the  shortest  and  plea- 
santest  cut  to  knowledge  ;  and  it  is  a  course  which  Paris,  and 
Paris  only,  can  afford,  among  all  the  capitals  of  civilized  Eu- 
rope.    Busy,  pre-occupied,  money-making  London  offers  no- 
thing approaching  to  it.  In  this  study  there  are  no  abstractions; 
every  thing  is  positive  and  tangible.     Scarcely  an  hypothesis 
can  be  advanced,  but  you  can  lay  your  finger  upon  the  illus- 
tration  ;  and  whether  you  go  abroad  or  stay  at  home,  school 
goes  on  equally  the  same.     The  schoolmaster  is  everywhere 
in   France.     In  other  capitals  you  7nay  live  and  learn,  but  in 
Paris  you  must.     Whether  moving  or   at  rest,  at  home  or 
abroad,   idle    or  diligent,   dissipated  or   domestic,  I,  at  least, 
was  sure  to  add  to  my  tiny  stock  of  knowledge  without  seek- 
ing it,  and  merely  by  giving  myself  up  to  the  chances  of  the 
day  as  they  came. 

I  happened  one  night  to  mention  at  General  Lafayette's 
that  I  should  remain  at  home  on  the  following  morning,  to  sit 
for  a  medal  to  David,  and  the  information  brought  us  a  nume- 
rous circle  of  morning  visitors  ;  others  dropped  in  by  chance, 
and  some  by  appointment.  From  twelve  till  four,  my  little  salon  \{ 
was  a  congress  composed  of  the  representatives  of  every  vo 


MORNINGS  AT  PARIS.  135 

cation  of  arts,  letters,  science,  boti  to?),  and  philosophy,  in  which, 
as  in  tlie  Italian  opera- boxes  of  Milan  and  Naples,  the  comers 
and  goers  succeeded  each  other,  as  the  narrow  limits  of  the 
space  required  that  the  earliest  visitor  should  make  room  for 
the  last  arrival.  There  was  Pigault  le  Brun,  the  father  of 
the  revolutionary  novelists,  whose  wit  and  humour  can  never 
be  out  of  fashion,  however  it  may  fare  with  the  forms  in 
which  he  has  embodied  them.  There  was  Mignet,  the  his- 
torian of  his  age,  and  belonging  to  his  age — honest,  fearless, 
and  giving  to  his  narrative  the  demonstration  of  mathematics 
and  the  brevity  of  epigram,  in  a  style  which  is  in  itself 
philosophy.  There  was  Merimee,  like  his  own  original  and 
delightful  dramas,  simple,  natural,  and  animated.  The  bril- 
liant Beyle,  whose  travels  made  me  long  to  know  the  author, 
and  whose  conversation  is  still  more  lively  and  original  than 
his  books  ;  Dumas,  the  author  of  "  Henry  the  Third,"  one 
of  the  most  successful  adventurers  in  the  rich  and  new  mine 
of  romanticism  ;*  and  the  spiritual  and  interesting  Robert 
Lefevre,  and  De  Montrol,  who  says  more  clever  things  even 
than  he  writes  ;  who  has  composed  a  life  of  Clement  Marot, 
in  an  episode,  that  is  in  prose  what  its  subject  was  in  poetry  ; 
and  the  Commandeur  Gazzera,  of  the  order  of  Malta,  the 
author  of  many  ingenious  works, — one  among  the  oldest  of 
our  continental  friends,  and  the  most  hospitable  of  hosts  ; 
and  there  was  an  accomplished  young  diplomatist  from  the 

United  States,  Mr.  B ,  and  Monsieur  Miguel  de  la  Barra, 

the  secretary  of  legation  from  Chili  ;  and  Don  Louis 
d'Arandada,  an  attache  of  the  Portuguese  embassy  ;-\  and 
Colonel  Tolstoy  from  Russia ;  and  the  Prince  and  Princess 
of  Salmes,  from  their  feudal  castle  on  the  Rhine  ;  and  the 

*  Monsieur  Dumas  hi»«  since  produced  his  tragedy  of  Chrislive,  writ- 
ten to  uphold  the  principles  of  his  sect.  Of  this  piece,  a  coteniporary 
critic  observes,  that,  "  in  it,  Dumas  has  shewn  himself  to  possess  dra- 
matic talents  of  the  first  or(j€r.  Tlie  leading  characters  are  preseived 
throughout  with  the  hand  of  a  master;  and  the  whole  of  the  fourth  and 
fifth  acts  are  more  thoroughly  dramatic  than  any  tragedy,  French 
or  foreign,  which  has  been  produced  for  many  years.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say,  that  if  Monsieur  Dumas  will  leave  it  to  the  developement 
of  his  subject,  and  the  uninfluenced  bent  of  his  fcenius,  to  decide  whe- 
ther the  piece  shall  assume  the  classiqve  or  romantique  form, — if  in  fact 
he  will  write  for  the  world  and  not  for  a  party, — he  will  rank  as  the 
first  tragic  author  in  Europe." 

t  From  the  legitimate  court  s'ewfeurf  :  the  minister  from  Don  \,iguel 
was,  at  this  time,  in  Paris,  but  was  very  generally  refused  admittance 
into  the  Parisian  circles,  not  on  his  own  account,  but  on  that  of  the  per- 
sonage he  represented. 


]36  MOR?JIJ\GS  AT  PARTS. 

Count  and  Countess  de  Rochefoucauld  Liancourt — (the  prii>. 
ciples  of  the  one  and  the  graces  of  the  otlier,  hke  their  ilius- 
trious  name,  beyond  all  change  of  circumstance  or  touch, 
of  time)  ;  and  tlie  honest  and  gifted  Italian  brothers  Ugoni  ; 
and  "  son  oblig^xmce,''  Monsieur  JulHen  de  Paris  ;  and  the 
two  first  amateurs  of  the  musical  world,  even  of  that  musical 
world  from  whence  they  came.  Signer  Barberi  and  Signor 
Dottore  Benati,  with  many  others,  who  came  in  and  went 
out  successively, — each  leaving  behind  them  the  votive  offer- 
ing of  an  agreeable  impression.  Meantime,  David,  not  in 
the  least  disturbed  by  the  comings  and  goings  of  my  miscel- 
laneous guests,  sat  in  full  light  near  the  window,  moulding 
away  ;  shewing  the  progress  of  his  work  without  mystery, 
and  taking  a  hint  from  one  and  a  suggestion  from  another,  in 
all  the  humility  of  true  genius,  and  all  its  carelessness  ; 
without  any  of  that  amour  propre,  and  self-satisfaction,  and 
mystery  of  craft,  which  belong  to  uncertain  reputations,  and 
certain  mediocrity.  Every  now  and  then,  he  threw  in  his  wordy 
and  made  his  remark,  with  the  enthusiasm  which  so  strongly 
characterizes  both  his  conversation  and  his  works  ;  and 
which  amounted  almost  to  inspiration,  as  the  music  of  Ros. 
sini,  from  time  to  time,  was  sung  and  played  by  one,  whose 
young,  fresh  tones,  and  sweet  expressionj  Rossini  himself  had 
deigned  to  approve. 

I  wish  I  could  remember  all  that  was  said,  in  seriousness 
and  in  pleasantry,  in  wisdom  or  in  gaiety,  in  all  sorts  of 
ways,  and  upon  all  sorts  of  subjects,  by  these  gifted  repre- 
sentatives of  the  civilization  of  Europe  ;  or  could  depict 
their  uncalculating  simplicity,  and  noble  confidence,  risking 
on  any,  or  on  .every  thing,  those  airy  nothings  to  which  ge- 
nius lends  a  charm,  and  on  which  genius  only  will  venture. 
What  a  lesson  to  solemn  dulnes3  and  cautipus  mediocrity  ?- 
Unfortunately,  I  rather  recollect  the  impression  made  by- 
each  than  the  words  that  engraved  them. 

The  author  of  "  Clara  Gazul,"  without  being  our  "  rneil^ 
leur  causeurt"  (as.  Madame  de  Vilette  said  of  Champfort,) 
was  certainly  one  of  the  most  delightful.  Not  that  he  is,, 
perhaps,  as  vivacious  as  Beyle,  nor  as  profound  (I  had  al- 
most  said  sublime)  as  Mignet ;  but  that  his  society  has  pre- 
cisely that  charm  which  makes  one  desire  his  arrival,  and 
fear  his  departure.  Easy,  simple,  gay,  humourous,  and  na- 
tural,  indifferent  to,  or  unconscious  of,  his  superior  talent, 
speaking  many  modern  languages,  and  knowing  al!  well — 
Merimee  is  an  epitome  of  the  European  youth  of  the  pre- 


sroKNns'Gs  at  paris.  137 

sent  day — the  reverse  of  all  our  received  opinions  of  the 
"  homme  de  lettres"  of  the  old  times,  in  France.  Authorship, 
in  him,  is  a  vocation,  not  a  ,  profession  ;  and  the  careless  but 
vigorous  manner  in  which  so.ne  of  his  dramatic  sketches  are 
thrown  off,  is  a  proof  that  he  writes  less  for  the  fame  he  has 
acquired,  than  to  fill  a  duty  to  society,  by  exposing  the  abu- 
ses and  revealing  the  vices  of  those  pernicious  institutions, 
Avhich  so  many  are  caballing  to  restore.  His  "  Clara  Ga- 
zul,"  "  La  Jacquerie,"  and  the  "Scenes  Feodales,"  are  evi- 
dently composed  in  this  spirit.  Like  the  young  men  in  ge- 
neral of  his  country,  Merimee  is  so  liberal,  that  he  is  not 
aware  that  he  is  liberal :  it  seems  to  him  that  liberalism  is  the 
natural  state  of  man.  Talking  on  the  subject  upon  the 
morning  alluded  to,  Beyle  observed,  that  even  the  term  was 
passing  away,  for  the  quality  was  ceasing  to  be  a  distinc- 
tion,  or  liberalism  a  sect.  "The  young  men,  even  of  the 
faubourg,"  he  said,  "the  sons  of  the  emigration,  if  they  are 
a  shade  less  liberal,  a  degree  more  enamoured  with  heredi- 
tary prejudices  than  the  '  children  of  the  revolution,'  are  in- 
finitely less  ultra  than  their  fathers,  who  are,  also,  much  less 
so  than  they  were  in  1815.  They  repeat  the  opinions  of 
their  parents,  but  they  laugh  with  us  at  the  ignorance  of  their 
feudal  ancestors,  and  they  blush  for  the  degradation  of  their 
class  in  the  reign  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.  They  are  no- 
longer  brought  up  in  their  childhood  by  sycophant  Abbes,  to 
be  transferred  to  the  hareuns  of  Versailles,  or  to  waste  their 
prime  in  the  ruelles  of  les  grandes  dames,  or  behind  the 
scenes  of  the  opera." 

Somebody  else  observed,  that  the  young  noblesse  seem 
half  ashamed  of  their  titles,  which  are  no  longer  in  harmony 
with  public  opinion  ;  and  they  very  commonly  drop  them  on 
their  visiting  tickets.  Having  caught  the  spirit  of  their  age, 
their  aspirations  are  towards  public  life,  politics,  literature, 
or  science  ;  and  if,  in  this  respect,  they  are  less  enegetic, 
and,  therefore,  less  successful,  than  their  cotemporaries, 
there  are  none  of  them  who  are  not  far  in  advance  of  their 
noble  fathers.  In  general,  they  read  the  various  journals  of 
the  day,  and  do  not  wait  to  become  acquainted  with  events, 
(as  their  predecessors  did,)  for  the  king's  announcement  of 
them,  while  he  is  changing  bis  shirt.  They  read  the  "  Ga- 
zette,"  and  the  "  Drapeau  blanc,"  to  please  their  noble  rela- 
tions, and  they  read  the  liberal  papers  to  please  themselves. 
It  is  not  unusual  to  see  them  poring  over  the  "  Globe"  or 
ihfi  "  Constitutionnel,"  in  the  Tuileries'  gardens,  while  thev 

12* 


]38  MORNIKOfS  AT  rART3. 

hold  before  it  one  of  the  accredited  ultra  papers,  to  make  a 
shew,  and  advertise  their  loyalty. 

"But,"  I  asked,  "  is  there  none  of  the  old  leaven  left  in 
these  successors  of  the  Richelieus,  nothing  of  the  old  school 
of  gallantry,  (for  instance,)  as  it  flourished  with  the  Lavri- 
gais  and  the  BouiUons?" 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  reply :  "  nothing  certainly  of  the 
old  school  of  libertinism,  professedly  cold,  heartless,  and 
profligate.  The  heroes  of  that  school  sought  not  the  love,, 
but  the  ruin  and  exposure  either  of  iheir  victims  or  them- 
selves ;  for  to  be  deceived  and  ruined  by  a  nymph  of  the 
opera,  was  once  a  patent  of  hon  ton*  The  young  ultras  of 
the  present  day  make  love  indeed  as  they  read  the  '  Gazette,' 
to  pay  their  tribute  to  the  hiensrance  of  their  grade,  and  to 
keep  up  the  old  forms.  The  young  man  in  Paris,  who  is 
now  the  most  aux  honne-i  fortunes,  is  assuredly  not  of  the  old 
stock.  'l"he  old  gallantry,  like  the  old  politics,  is  quite  out 
of  fashion  :  even  love  is  at  a  discount  ;  and  grace  and  beau- 
ty are  r^ometimes  too  much  neglected  for  la  cliarfe." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  laughing,  "  I  saw  something  of  this  the 
other  night,  fc'ome  of  you  were  present,  where  politics  and 
philosophy  held  supreme  sway,  while  youth  and  beauty  went 
for  nothing,  f  could  not  help  saying  to  our  young  host,  vans 
n''ai?nez  plus  les  fem7n.es  1  and  he  answered,  nous  aimons  nos^ 
ferimes." 

"  Oh,  }  es,  the  Globists  are  devotedly  in  love  with  their 
own  wives;  and  not  with  the  wives  of  others,  as  in  the  old 
school,  when  every  literary  lady  had  her  authorical  amant 
iitrc,  like  the  Da  (Jhatelets,  the  D'Epinays,  and  theD'Hude- 
tots.  We  make  love,  in  (he  present  day,  morally,  and  in  a 
constitutional  manner.  This  is  the  time  for  agreeable  Wo- 
men, who  only  aim  at  captivating  our  opinions;  and  the 
most  agreeable  woman  is  the  one,  who  best  adapts  herself  to 
the  man  she  converses  with,  and  the  subject  that  most  occu- 
pies him.     So,  vive  le  budget  /" 

"  liut,  have  3'ou  none  of  les  grandes  passions,  such  as  sent 
the  Duchesse  de  Polignac  and  the  Duchesse  de  Nesle  to  fight 
a  duel  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  for  the  Due  de  Richelieu  ;  or 
that  set  two  rivals  '  d  s'arracher  les  cheveux  pour  une  injide- 
liie,^  in  a  room  full  of  company,  as  described  by  Madame  de- 
Prie,  in  a  letter  to  the  same  duke  ?" 

*  The  Due  de  Bouillon  is  said  lo  have  expended  fonr  millions  of' 
francs  on  tlie  sultanas  of  the  opera  and  the  Frangais.  Mademoiselle' 
Rau(-ourt  was  wont  to  say.  in  her  old  age,  "that  the  cause  of  the  ruin* 
of  the  nobility  was  the  opera." 


JrORIVINGS  AT  PAKIS.  139 

'•'  Oh  !  nothing,"  replied  all  the  French  present. 
"  Que  les  gens  cVes'pril  sont  bltes,^^  whispered  a  young 
Englishman,  who  had  just  dropped  in,  and  sat  beside  nne  ; 
"  remind  me  to  tell  you  of  a  dcmtle  between  two  pretty 
duchesses  in  an  opera  box,  the  other  night,  about  a  young 
English  Richelieu." 

(I  must  observe,  in  a  parenthesis,  that  all  the  scandal  in 
Paris  is  fresh,  if  not  authentic,  among  the  English,  particu- 
larly those  who  do  not  go  into  French   society.)     Some   one 

who  overheard  Mr.  ,  replied,  "  You  must  not  judge,  sir, 

of  the  morals  of  the  nation,  [>y  those  of  a  little  coterie,  who 
affect  to  imitate  the  manners  and  morals  of  the  higher  class 
of  British  fashionables  ;  some  of  whom  have  brought  the 
worst  examples  here,  after  having  atforded  them  in  their  own 
countr)'." 

"  ^Vhat  a  turning  of  the  tables  !  but,"  I  added,  "  some 
one  has  said  that  French  wit  has  gone  out  of  fashion  with 
French  gallantry." 

"That  is  not  precisely  the  case  ;  but  still  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  remark  :  not  that  there  is  less  wit  in  France, 
than  formerly — perhaps  there  is  more  ;  and,  therefore,  it  is 
less  conspicuous,  less  a  distinction.  'J'here  is  too  much  bus- 
tle of  intellect,  to  permit  the  world  to  pause  on  a  hon-mot,  or 
to  re-echo  &  jeud' esprit.'''' 

"  By   the   bye,"   said  M.  ,   "  LaAiyette,   who  grow.<? 

brighter,  like  a  diamond,  the  more  it  is  rubbed,  said  a  very 
witty  thing  the  other  day,  which  would  have  made  a  reputa- 
tion, half  a  century  ago.  General  Sebasliani  talking  to  him 
of  the  old  and  new  nobility,  asked,  '  Do  you  not  think.  Gene- 
ral, as  I  do,  that  a  fusion  between  them  would  be  very  desir- 
able ?'  '  Qui,  7noTi  cher  Sebasiiajn,^  replied  Lafayette, 'je  ?e 
desire; — mais  compleUe^  jusqiia  r{Jvaporafion.'  " 

"  Who  do  you  think,"  I  asked,  "  is  the  most  gallant  man 
in  France,  after  the  old  fashion  ?" 

"  Oh  !   Charles  X."  was  the  universal  cry. 

"  And  who  (the  present  company  excepted)  is  the  wit- 
tiest ?" 

"  Rossini,  beyond  a  doubt,"  said  Beyle,  "do  you  not  think 
so,  Lady  M.?" 

"  I  meet  him  frequently  in  society  ;  yet  I  have  rarely 
heard  him  speak,  except  in  languid  and  extorted  replies,  until 
the  other  day  at  dinner,  at  Gerard's  ;  where  he  was  very 
agreeable." 

"  That  is  not  unlikely.     He  is  now  overwhelmed  with  his- 


140  MORNINGS  AT    PARIS. 

professional  labours,  putting  the  finish  to  his  '  William  Tell,' 
and  he  comes  into  society  late  and  weary  ;  as  you  saw  him 
at  Madame  Merlin's." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  and  heord  him  there  last  night.  He  presided 
at  the  piano  ;  and  the  maimer  in  which  he  accompanied  one 
of  his  own  songs  from  the  Barbia'e,  was  more  like  inspira- 
tion, than  mere  human  genius.     I  have  not  yet  recovered  it.'' 

"  Inspiration  ! — If  you  were  to  talk  to  him  of  inspiration, 
he  would  laugh  at  you.  He  laughs  at  the  very  idea  ;  but 
then  he  laughs  at  every  thing,  himself  included.  He  is  a 
thorough  Mephistophiles  !  To  see  Rossini,  in  all  the  glory 
of  his  genius,  and  his  natural  and  unobtrusive  wit,  you  must 
see  him  at  midnight,  composing  at  his  little  desk,  in  his  black 
cap,  surrounded  by  his  habitues,  yet  undisturbed  by  their  fun 
and  frolic  ;  in  which,  from  time  to  time,  he  bears  his  part, 
particularly  if  his  clever  friend  Caraffa  be  present  :  then, 
indeed,  he  is  in  his  own  sphere  ;  there  is  nothing  like  him." 

I  hazarded  an  opinion  on  music  and  Rossini,  which  I  have 
printed  in  the  "  Book  of  the  Boudoir  ;"  and  so  we  got  upon 
the  revolution  he  has  effected  in  his  art,  and  upoh  that  ge- 
nius, which  gets  the  start  of  its  age. 

"  No,"  said  Mignet,  "  genius  goes  with  its  age  ;  and  it  is 
by  so  doing,  that  it  wins  i*s  success." 

I  still  persisted  in  my  Mrs.  Malaprop  style  of  arguing, 
"  clever  men  go  wi*h  their  age,  and  prosper ;  genius  goes 
one  step  beyond  it,  and  is  persecuted ;"  Merimee  and  David 
were  of  my  opinion. 

"  Your  Mikon,  said  Mignet,  "  went  with  his  times,  when  he 
took  religion  and  liberty  tor  his  inspiration." 

"  That  is,"  1  addcid,  "  Milton  gave  an  impulse  to  his  own 
times ;  but  he  surely  went  beyond  them,  when  he  wrote  his 
defence  of  the  English  people,  and  his  '  Paradise  Lost.'  The 
first  was  not  the  political  philosophy  either  of  (he  Protector  or 
the  parliament;  nor  was  the  latter  the  cant  of  the  age  and 
sect  to  which  he  belonged." 

On  the  subject  of  the  greatest  literary  geniuses  that  France 
has  produced,  I  ventured  to  cite  Moliere  and  Voltaire,  both 
of  whom,  by  the  bye,  went  with  their  age,  and  beyond  their 
ages.  Migret  added  Bossuet,  and  quoted  some  of  his  elo- 
quent passages. 

I  ventured  to  observe  that  "  oratory  could  never  flourish  un^ 
der  a  pure  despotism,  nor  at  the  dictation  of  such  a  patron  as 
Louis  the  Fourteenth."  I  was  however  a  prejudiced  judge^. 
for  Mignet  had  the  best  of  the  argument,  as  on  all  subjects  he 


MORNIIVGS    AT    PARIS.  141 

would  have  with  me.  I  hold  the  character  of  that  insolent 
sycophant,  Bossuet,  in  such  horror,  that  I  see  only  in  him  the 
Bisliop  of  Meaux,  the  tyrant  over  the  weakness,  and  pander 
to  the  passions  of  the  great  ;  one  who  turned  the  tribune  of 
religion  into  the  stage  of  a  mountebank  ;  and  at  the  altar  of 
God,  called  on  the  people  to  do  homage  to  the  vices  of  a  des- 
pot. In  discussmg  the  merits  of  Bossuet,  I  got  in  a  word  in 
favour  of  the  mild  and  evangelical  [Nlassillon  ;  whose  code  of 
humanity,  as  given  in  his  j^etit  carcme,  is  in  my  opinion  well 
worth  all  Bossuet  ever  wrote.  It  was  observed  that  {he  jietit 
eai'ime  was  written  by  command,  to  favour  that  peace  and 
tranquillity,  which  it  was  the  Regent's  pleasure  and  policy  to 
uphold ;  and  to  give  an  hint  to  the  young  king  :  Massillon's 
success  therefore  arose  from  his  going  with  his  age. 

As  visitors  dropped  in  and  dropped  out,  our  subjects  of 
conversation  changed,  in  the  true  spirit  of  careless,  desultory 
chit-chat,  till,  towards  the  close  of  the  morning,  we  suddenly 
found  ourselves  in  the  dangerous  field  of  French  poetry.  Oh  ? 
what  a  trouncing  we  English  got  with  our  pretensions  to  an 
exclusive  privilege  in  Parnassus  ! 

By  way  of  a  novelty,  I  took  up  Collins,  who  is  but  little 
known  in  France ;  but  his  "  Oriental  FiClogues"  were  flung 
at  my  head,  and  "  Les  Orientales'"  of  Victor  Hugo  were  cited, 
as  superior.  They  have,  both  of  them,  the  same  fault :  the 
first  were  written  in  London,  the  second  in  Paris,  by  men  who 
wrote  from  books,  and  not  from  impressions, — the  true  source 
of  all  good  poetry, — the  source  and  charm  of  Byron's,  who 
describes  what  he  saw,  and  as  he  saw,  through  the  medium 
of  his  own  exalted  imagination.  But  Collins's  "Ode  to  Eve- 
ning," a  poem  without  rhyme,  but  with  every  fact  and  image 
drawn  from  nature,  from  the  northern  nature,  of  which  he  was 
himself  a  poetical  illustration,  is  ever3MVord  poetry,  of  the 
highest  order;  it  is  truth  and  fact,  and  yet  more  poetical  than 
all  that  Racine  ever  wrote.  I  cited  his  northern  sunset  and 
twilight,  his  bat  and  bells,  and  folding  star,  and  heathy  scene- 
ry. I  had  begun  life  by  admiring  this  beautiful  specimen  of 
descriptive  poetry,  and  I  was  delighted  to  find  that  I  still  re- 
tained the  same  sensibility  to  it,  as  I  felt  (it  is  unnecessary 
to  say  how  many,)  years  back  ;  the  very  measure  of  it  is  mu- 
sic, and  every  word  a  melody;  I  chose  the  following  pas, 
sage  : 

"  Now  air  is  hush'd,  save  \\  licre  the  weak-eyed  bat 
VVith  siiorl,  shrill  shiiek  flits  on  a  leathern  wing; 
Or  where  the  hretie  winds 
His  small,  l)ut  sullen  horn  : 


142  MORNINGS    AT    PAUIS. 

As  of'  he  rises  'midst  the  twilight  path, 
Against  the  pilgrim,  borne,  in  heedless  hum. 

Now,  teach  me,  maid  composed. 

To  breathe  some  soften'd  strain. 

Whose  numbers  stealing  thro'  thy  dark'ning  vale, 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillness  suit, 

As  musing  slow,  1  hail 

Thy  genial,  loved  return. 

For,  when  the  folding  star  arising,  shews 
His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 

The  fragrant  hours,  and  elves, 

Who  slept  in  buds  the  day, 

And  many  a  nymph,  who  wreathes  her  brows  with  sedge,. 
And  sherds  the  freshening  dew, — and,  lovelier  still, 

The  pensive  pleasures  sweet, 

Prepare  their  shadowy  car. 

Then  let  me  rove  some  wild  and  heathy  scene, 
Or  find  some  ruin  'midst  ils  dreary  dells. 

Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 

By  thy  religious  gleams. 

(Ir,  if  chill  blust'ring  winds,  or  driving  rain, 
Prevent  my  willing  feet,  be  mine  the  hut 

That  from  the  mouniaiii's  side 

Views. wilds  and  swelling  floods, 

And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim-discovered  spires 
And  hears  their  simple  bell  and  marks  o'er  all, 

Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 

The  gradual  dusky  veil." 

I  know  not,  in  any  language,  a  single  poem  at  once  so 
poetical,  and  so  descriptive  of  natural  phenomena,  as  this 
ode  of  Collins. 

"  Ah,"  said  a  French  classicist,  *'  you  forget  the  descrip- 
lion  of  the  death  of  Hypolitus.  Ecoulez  :''  and  he  quoted 
the  speech  of  Theramone,  in  the  Phedre,  at  full  length,  be- 
ginning— 

"  A  peine  nous  sortlons  des  portes  deTrtzene." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  If  this  is  poetry,  according  to  the 
French  standard,  it  is  not  nature.  Would  any  man  announce, 
to  an  unfortunate  parent,  the  dnath  of  his  child,  with  all  the 
details   of  the  break  down  of  a   mail-coach,   in  a  tirade  of 


jrORM??GS  AT  PARIS.  143 

forty   preliminary  lines  ?     Would  any  man  cry  to  tlint  pa- 
rent, 

"  Excuser  ma  douleur,  cette  image  cruelle 

Sera  pour  moi  de  pleurs  une  source  eternelle  ?" 

Or  take  the  charitable  pains  to  inform  him,  that, 

"  Do  son  g^ntreux  sang  la  trace  nous  conduit ; 
Les  rochers  en  sonl  teints;  les  ronces  degoutantes 
Portent  de  ses  cheveux  les  depouilles  sanglantes  ?" 

Merimee,  with  his  usual  espi^glerie,  helped  out  the  argu- 
ment against  me,  with  Clarence's  dream  ;  and  so,  as  usual, 
we  all  left  off  as  we  began.  Eut  we  all  agreed,  that  the 
prose  of  P*  Courier,  and  the  poetry  of  Beranger,  were  each 
in  perfection  in  their  several  wajs  :  while  some  observed, 
that  the  French  and  English  are  making  an  exchange  of 
words  and  of  things,  and  quoted  a  translated  idiom  of  my 
Angto-French,  which,  though  it  now  shocks  the  ears  of  the 
purists,  might  be  naturalized  some  of  these  days. 

"  Shock  us !"  said  Beyle,  "  yes,  but  not  in  your  English 
sense  of  the  word.  It  does  give  us  an  agreeable  shock. 
Are  you  English  aware  that  there  is  an  almost  primitive  sim- 
plicity in  the  errors  you  commit  in  our  language  of  phrases, 
that  carries  with  it  an  infinite  charm.  We  modern  French, 
for  instance,  prefer  the  French  letters  of  Horace  Walpole  to 
those  of  his  correspondent,  Madame  du  Deffand  :  there  is 
a  force,  a  naiveU,  in  his  translated  idioms,  a  thousand  times 
more  expressive  than  the  purisms  of  the  French  lady,  the 
muse  of  the  literati  of  her  time.*  His  style  is  as  little  the 
French  of  les  Quarante,  as  his  wit ;  but  it  is  something  bet- 
ter.  His  words  have  the  force  of  ideas,  and  his  phrases  are 
so  free  from  the  monotony  of  our  rhythm,  that  they  keep  us 
tout  eveille^" 

M observed,  that  the  French  bore  a  great  resemblance 

to  the  Athenians  in  their  sensibility  to  purily  of  style  ;  and 
this  brought  us  to  the  Greeks  and  their  cause.  We  natu- 
rally made  a  reference  to  Colonel  Tolstoy's  pamphlet,  written 
in  excellent  French,  which  lay  upon  the  table.  He,  of 
course,  went  with  the  Russian  policy  ;  the  French  were  all 

*  I  have  frequently  remarked  pure  and  genuine  Anglicisms  in  the 
early  French  writers  ;  or  rather  pure  Gallicisms,  borrow  d  by  us  from 
the  cotcmporary  language  of  France,  at  the  period  when  our  own  was 
forming. 


144  MORNINGS  AT  PARIS. 

for  the  plains  of  Marathon  and  Greek  liberty,  and  the  Eng- 
lish  were  more  or  less  in  the  doctrines  which  produced  the 
massacres  of  Parga,  and  Mr.  Sheridan's  pamphlet  against 
the  Greeks ;  and  so  we  were  all  drawn  up  in  battle  array. 

David  led  the  charge,  as  Praxiteles  himself  might  have 
done  ;  and  if  there  is  any  fire  in  the  medal  that  represents 
ray  stupid  Irish  face,  it  is  due  to  that  which  kindled  his  spirit, 
as  he  worked  and  defended  the  land  of  the  arts,  and  the 
compatriots  of  Apelles. 

Meantime  several  visitors,  bored,  perhaps,  with  a  subject, 
in  which  they  took  little  interest,  bowed  themselves  out. 
Among  these  were  one  or  two  gentlemen  who  had  taken 
no  further  part  in  the  conversation,  than  to  ask  the  names 
of  my  other  guests,  who,  after  their  departure,  asked  theirs. 
I  said,  I  did  not  know,  or  at  least  must  refer  to  my  visiting 
book,  to  ascertain  them. 

"Not  know  the  names  of  your  guests?"  said  Madame 
D ,  "  qiCelle  est  drdle.'^ 

"  Que  voulez  vous,  madame  ?  We  are  presented  at  some 
crowded  assembly,  or  public  place,  to  a  number  of  all  na- 
tions. We  don't  catch  half  their  foreign  names.  These 
pr^senUs  present  others ;  they  call  and  are  let  in.  Their 
names  are  announced  by  my  servant,  who  gives  them  all  a 
certain  Irish  tournure,  that  makes  confusion  worse  confound- 
ed ;  and  so  there  they  are.  Some  turn  out  delightful,  high 
bred  and  agreeable,  like  that  young  Wallachian  Boiardo, 
who  has  just  left  us  ;  and  others  prove  prosers,  like  ....  but 
I  won't  exemplify,  where  all  are  courteous  and  kind,  and 
well  informed  and  well  disposed." 

"  And  one  of  them"  said  Monsieur  de ,  "  whom  I  saw 

here  the  other  day,  is  an  ex-jesuit." 

"  Madonna  mia. !  you  make  me  start !  I  am  denounced 
then  to  the  holy  office,  or  to  the  police  at  least." 

"  Oh  !  don't  be  alarmed,"  said  Beyle,  "  you  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  the  police  now." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  longer  a  police  in 
France  ?" 

"  A  pcu  pres.  Upon  great  occasions,  a  few  civil  gentle- 
men come  forth,  enter  your  room,  chapeau  has,  politely  in- 
quire into  the  disorder,  or  relate  the  event  that  occasions  their 
intrusion,  and  have  the  air  of  paying  a  visit  of  ceremony,  in- 
stead of  a  domiciliary  visit.  As  for  your  Jesuit,  whoever  he 
may  be — and  these  things  are  easier  said  than  proved — the 
worst  you  have  to  expect,  is  an  attack  in  some  of  the  ultra 


LE  FEVUE,  145 

papers,  or  in  those  intelligent  organs  of  public  opinion,  whicii 
treat  upon  hats,  caps,  "  des  grands  ourlets  et  du  petit  man- 
teau." 

"  Or  de  la  pluie  et  du  beau  temps — qtie  voild  /"  I  exclaim- 
ed.    "  So  let  us  enjoy  it  in  the  gardens." 

^^  Levero  Vincommodo,'^  said  David,  putting  up  his  little  mo- 
del ;  and  then  came  the  bustle  of  bonnets,  shawls,  and  pa- 
rasols ;  and  as  many  as  said  "  aye,"  accompanied  us  to  the 
gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  where  fresh  air  and  fresh  company 
gave  a  new  fillip  to  the  spirits  and  the  fancy  ;  and  fresh  to- 
pics were  furnished  by  a  site,  where  subjects  of  discussion 
were  furnished  by  every  passing  groupe ;  and  the  addition 
to  our  circle  of  Monsieur  de  P — r — y,  gave  us  the  benefit  of 
one  of  the  pleasantest  chroniclers  of  the  times,  political  and 
fashionable,  that  even  Paris  supplies. 


LE  FEVRE. 

I  HAVE  been  sitting  for  my  picture  to  Robert  Le  Fevre,  a 
snost  agreeable  and  well-informed  person.  His  agreeability 
is  that  of  a  laisser  aller  temperament,  and  his  information 
that  of  a  man  who  has  lived  in  the  midst  of  great  events, 
and  with  notable  and  extraordinary  persons.  Le  Fevre  has 
these  advantages  in  common  with  Gerard,  with  whom  half 
an  hour's  conversation  is  worth — almost  one  of  his  own 
splendid  pictures.  If  any  one  could  keep  me  quiet,  under 
the  slow  torture  of  sitting  for  a  picture,  it  would  be  Robert 
Le  Fevre  ;  for,  besides  his  own  merits,  he  has  the  addition- 
al one,  in  my  eyes,  of  resembling  Denon  so  closely  in  face, 
figure,  dress,  manner,  and  even  in  pronunciation  and  accent, 
that  the  illusion  has  been,  for  a  moment,  complete,  and  has 
alrnost  given  me  back  my  dear  old  friend,  just  as  when  I 
first  sat  to  him  for  a  lithographic  sketch,  that  resembles  me 
much  less  than  Monsieur  Le  Fevre  resembles  him,  (for  por- 
trait drawing,  if  Denon's  rapid  sketches  can  be  so  called, 
was  not  the  ybri  of  him  whose  burin,  however,  seems  to  have 
been  a  bequest  from  Rembrandt). 

One  of  the  most  favourable  likenepses  taken  of  Napoleon, 
was  by  Robert  Le  Fevre,  who  superintended  fifty-five  minia- 
tures copied  from  it,  at  the  desire  of  various  persons,     hi 

Vol.  L— 13 


146  I-E  FEVRE. 

those  days,  the  procuring  copies  of  the  imperial  likeness, 
was  a  favourite  mode  of  homage,  among  the  thousand  flat- 
teries then  practised  ;  yet,  when  I  visited  France,  in  1816, 
there  was  not  one  to  be  seen,  nor  to  be  procured,  for  love  or 
money,  except  with  the  greatest  secrecy  and  mystery.  I,  at 
least,  who  went  poking  about  every  where,  saw  but  two  ; 
and  of  these,  one  was  in  a  sort  of  lumber-room,  at  the  Hotel 
Crawford,  and  the  other  a  miniature,  for  which  Napoleon 
walked — not  sat  ;  all  busy  people,  I  believe,  hating  to  sit  for 
pictures^  however  strong  the  propensity  of  their  amour  propre 
to  multiply  their  likeness.  This  miniature  is  now  in  ijriy  pos- 
session, it  was  given  me  by  an  accomplished  female  friend, 
to  whom  all  the  arts  are  dear,  and  who  excels  in  that,  by 
which  the  features  of  the  First  Consul  are  there  so  closely- 
represented.* 

Le  Fevre,  to  keep  me  quiet,  placed  an  immense  folio  vo- 
lume before  me.  On  drawing  off  its  rich  silken  cover,  I 
perceived,  by  the  inscription,  that  this  superb  work  was  a 
royal  donation  ;  it  was  bound,  gilt,  and  lettered,  with  a  splen- 
dour worthy  of  the  Pope's  missal  ;  but  its  exterior  (fine  as  it 
was,)  bore  no  proportion  to  the  treasures  of  the  interior, 
which  consisted  of  a  collection  of  engravings  from  the  Fle- 
mish masters.  The  originals  are  in  the  gallery  of  the  Duch- 
ess de  Berri,  and  the  work  is  got  up  with  great  taste  and 
magnificence  by  her  Royal  Highness— herself  a  genuine 
lover,  and  a  liberal  patroness  of  the  arts.  It  is  curious  to 
see  the  Italian  organization  coming  forth  in  this  charming 
passion,  which  adds  such  grace  to  life,  and  so  extends  its  en- 
joyments. I  leave  it  to  philosophy  to  determine  whether  the 
power  which  widens  the  circle  of  agreeable  sensations,  con- 
fers real  advantages  over  the  dull  and  torpid  vitality  of  an 
oyster,  or  whether  an  exemption  from  the  pains  and  penalties 
of  fine  perceptions  does  not  more  than  overbalance  the  plea- 
sures they  occasion  :  but  I  am  certain  that  society  benefits 
by  the  existence  of  a  refined  taste  in  persons,  raised  by  the 
accident  of  their  birth  to  high  and  influential  positions.  How 
many  idle  and  gallant  queens,  whose  extravagance  of  ex- 
penditure, and  intrigues  in  society,  have  brought  ruin  on  the 
nation,  might  France  have  been  spared,  had  the  Austrian  and 
Spanish  sovereigns  educated  their  daughters,  and  led  them 
to  cultivate  their  minds,  and  to  develope  their  talents,  so  as 

*  Mademoiselle  Hervey.     One  of  the  largest  miniatures  ever  jiaiiitecl 
-  ^ivory,  h  her  beautiful  copy  of  the  Madonna  delta  Seggia. 


LE  FEVRE.  147 

to  place  them  beyond  the  necessity  of  depending  on  the 
resources  of  gossip  and  the  dissipation  of  a  court.  How 
many  bigotted  queens,  the  skives  of  their  confessors,  and  the 
victims  of  their  own  dark  ignorance  and  gloomy  fears, 
might  have  been  trained  into  rational  and  intelligent  beings, 
to  the  happiness  of  the  many,  whom  they  lived  only  to  tor- 
ment and  persecute.  Had  Catherine  de  Medicis,  and  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenon,*  been  either  accomplished  or  well 
educated  women,  France  might  have  been  spared  the  massa- 
cre of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantz.  The  greatest  princess  in  Europe,  La  Grande  Ma' 
demoiselle,  as  she  was  called,  seems  to  have  had  the  mind 
and  manners  of  a  coarse,  vulgar  housekeeper,  in  the  family 
of  a  country  gentleman  ;  and  for  want  of  common  know- 
ledge and  cultivation,  though  mistress  of  a  dozen  dukedoms 
and  principalities,  she  lived  a  prisoner  at  large,  without  the 
command  of  her  actions  or  her  wealth  ;  and  after  having 
suffered  every  tyraimy,  privation,  and  injustice,  wounded  in 
her  dearest  affections,  and  disappointed  in  her  best  hopes, 
she  was  forced  to  give  her  property  as  the  king  pleased. 
She  has  left  in  her  most  amusing  ndlves,  and  illustrative 
memoirs,  a  monument  of  the  ignorance,  vulgarity,  and  ne- 
glect, in  which  a  royal  princess  in  the  eighteenth  century 
might  be  reared,  even  in  the  most  refined  court  of  Europe. 

In  tossing  over  the  portfolios  of  Le  Fevre,  (while  Madame 
Grassini  was  humming  to  the  piano  that  air  with  which,  some 
years  back,  she  turned  half  the  heads  in  England, — "  Paga 
fui,")  I  hghted  on  the  portrait  of  the  lovely  Pauline  Bona- 
parte, for  which  she  had  sat  to  Le  Fevre  in  her  robes,  imme- 
diately after  the  imperial  coronation.  What  exquisite,  what 
seducing  beauty  !  what  simplicity,  yet  what  gorgeous  splen- 
dour of  dress  !  I  remember  her  shewing  me  when  in  Rome, 
the  tiara  in  which  she  is  here  represented.  It  is  of  large 
empralds  set  with  diamonds. 

The  next  fair  face  that  presented  itself  was  that  of  the 
martyr,  Charlotte  Corday,  with  whom  Le  Fevre  had  been  in- 
timately acquainted.     She  was  a  young  and  lovely  creature, 

*  Madame  de  Maintenon  had  learned  to  read,  write,  and  work  tapes- 
try, the  whole  range  of  education  in  that  day.  Nothing  places  the  na- 
tural genius  of  this  clever  woman,  and  of  many  of  her  (;otemporaries, 
in  a  clearer  point  of  view,  than  the  narrowness  of  their  education.  All 
the  arts  were  unknown  to  them  ;  and  few,  if  any  of  them,  applied  to 
the  acijuirement  of  foreign  languages.  Madame  de  Scvigne  alon® 
appears  to  have  been  a  good  Italian  scholar. 


H8  LE  FEVRE. 

with  an  almost  infantine  simplicity  of  look  ;  and  a  slight 
shade  of  melancholy  taming  down  the  lustre  of  her  youth- 
A  fixed,  but  mild  intensity  of  expression  indicates  firmness  of 
purpose,  beyond  the  reach  of  external  influence  ;  giving  to 
the  countenance  that  expression  so  remarkable  in  the  physi- 
ognomy of  Lafayette,  from  which  painters  might  borrow 
an  idea  of  divine  immutability,  the  unchangeableness  of 
good.  The  Saint  Catherines,  the  Saint  Cecilias,  and  the 
Saint  Lucias,  afford  nothing  comparable  with  the  self-immo- 
lation of  Charlotte  Corday.  They  did  not  seek,  they  sub- 
mitted  to  their  lot,  with  a  crown  of  immortal  glory  before 
their  eyes,  to  be  adored  like  deities  through  endless  genera- 
tions, and  to  be  associated  in  worship  with  the  God  whom 
they  served.  Their  sacrifice  was  the  purchase  of  immortal 
fame  in  one  world,  and  eternal  felicity  in  the  other.  But 
what  was  the  reward  of  the  Judith  of  modern  times,  and 
what  was  her  sacrifice  ? — the  sacrifice  of  her  fair  and  wo- 
manly  fame, — of  her  feelings  and  sensibility.  Hers  was  not 
the  heart  nor  the  face  of  a  murderer.  She,  who  felt  so  deep- 
ly for  her  country,  must  have  felt  a  bitter  pang  in  taking  the 
life  of  the  worst  even  of  her  countrymen  :  and  what  was 
the  expected  consequence  ? — to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the 
mob,  or  at  least  to  be  executed  on  a  scaffold,  where  it  was  no 
longer  a  distinction  to  suffer  ;  to  be  handed  down,  even  by 
the  fair-judging,  as  one  who  wanted  a  woman's  heart,  and 
possessed  an  assassin's  nerve  ;  as  one,  to  be  remembered  at 
best  with  a  doubtful  feeling,  between  horror  and  admiration, 
and  finally  to  sink  into  an  obscurity  that  almost  aniounts  to 
oblivion  ;  for  of  her  no  memorial  exists,  except  this  little 
picture.  This  is  the  poetical  view  of  the  conduct  of  Char- 
lotte Corday  :  its  philosophy  lies  in  the  power  of  that  politi- 
Cal  exaltation  which  is  not  to  be  judged  by  abstract  rules,  but 
by  the  circumstances  in  which  the  individual  is  placed. 

The  study  of  Le  Fevre  is  a  gallery  of  historic  portraits. 
Among  them  are  two,  which,  partaking  of  the  heau  ideal  of 
imaginary  resemblance,  especially  arrested  my  attention, — 
the  portraits  of  Abelard  and  of  Eloise.  The  hypercritics 
are  of  opinion  that  there  is  something  too  terrestrial  in  the 
beauty  and  the  grief  of  Eloise  ;  and  the  ultras,  who  see  noS 
merit,  but  in  the  Magdalens  of  Le  Brun,  observe  that  "  eUfi^ 
pleure,  cetie  belle  Hdoise,  mais  ce  ne  sont  pas  les  larmes  de  i 
Valli^re.*     My  own  opinion  is  that  Le  Fevre's  Eloise  is  of 

"  "  She  weeps  i  but  they  are  not  the  tears  of  La  Valliere." 


LE  FEVRJf.  149 

the  school  of  nature.  The  attraction  of  the  Abelard,  in  my 
eyes,  is  that  it  is  as  like  Talma  as  if  he  had  set  for  it.  Ita 
fault,  in  the  eyes  of  the  critics,  is  that  it  is  a  little  too  thea- 
trical :  but  single  figures,  thrown  into  the  expression  and  at. 
titude  of  strong  passion,  must  ever  be  so. 

The  principal  picture  on  which  the  artist "  was  then  occu- 
pied, was  a  large  altar-piece,  the  ascent  of  St.  Louis  to  heaven, 
in  all  the  glories  of  saintly  and  of  royal  majesty.*  It  was 
not  in  a  sufficient  stale  of  forwardness  to  judge  of  it  as  a 
work  of  art ;  but  I  may  be  permitted  to  observe,  that  there 
is  something  in  this  class  of  subjects  particularly  ungrateful, 
which  renders  the  position  of  a  painter,  subjected  to  exe- 
cute them  at  the  orders  and  the  taste  of  the  powerful,  any 
thing  but  agreeable.  In  the  first  place,  all  "  ascents,"  (that 
of  our  Saviour  by  Raphael  inclusive,)  are  too  corporeal,  too 
closely  resembling  the  ghost  of  Hamlet  before  the  stage 
lights,  to  please  an  imaginative  beholder.  They  remind  one 
too  forcibly  of  the  law  of  gravity,  to  comport  with  the  ideas, 
either  of  upward  motion  or  of  spirituality.  The  spectator 
is  rather  impressed  with  the  apprehension  of  broken  bones, 
than  with  the  conception  of  a  divine  and  awful  mystery. 
Then,  again,  allegory,  whether  sculptured  or  painted,  is  the 
grave  of  the  sublime  ;  it  is  the  sensible  image  which  is  pre- 
sented— not  the  idea  typified  ;  and  the  mind,  instead  of  be- 
ing elevated  to  the  heiglit  of  the  conception,  is  dragged  down 
to  the  level  of  the  material  illustration.  Such  pictures  are 
fit  only  for  their  especial  purpose,  to  afford  to  the  vulgar, 
notions  level  to  their  capacity,  material,  sensual,  and  trivial 
as  themselves :  and  it  is  with  feelings  of  humiliation  and  an- 
noyance, that  I  beheld  a  painter,  so  full  of  poetic  genius  as 
Le'  Fcvre,  employed  on  them.  The  greatest  talents  will 
hardly  escape  with  success,  from  the  embarrassments  of  such 
a  subject. 

*  Bespoken,  I  believe,  by  the  king. 


13+ 


[  150] 


THE  PROTESTANT  POPE. 

How  strauge  it  is  that  people  should  desire  every  body  (o 
think  with  them,  upon  subjects  that  must  remain  in  doubt  tilJ 
the  end  of  time  ;  and  stranger  still  that  the  unextinguishable 
thirst  for  sympathy,  out  of  which  this  desire  springs,  should 
be  the  fruitful  parent  of  such  dire  and  bloody  antipathies. 
Men  desire  companions  in  their  creeds,  as  children  do  in  the 
dark,  from  a  sense  of  feebleness  and  danger  ;  but  they  have 
no  want  to  lean  upon  others  in  the  broad  sun-light  of  sci- 
ence. Of  the  twenty  thousand  floating  opinions  on  religious 
subjects,  one  only,  it  is  thought,  can  be  right :  yet  the  other 
nineteen  thousand,  nine  hundred,  and  ninety-nine  sects,  are 
not  the  less  zealous  in  cramming  their  opinions  down  the 
throats  of  the  public,  persecuting,  or  at  least  decrying  all 
those,  who  are  led  by  temperament,  intellect,  position,  and 
above  all  by  education,  to  think  in  another  way.  In  alighting 
from  our  carriage,  at  the  entrance  of  the  place  of  meeting 
of  the  "  socUl^  de  la  morale  chrttienne"  a  most  methodisti- 
cal-looking  man,  with  a  long  face,  lank  hair,  and  a  Praise- 
god  Rare-bones  expression  of  countenance,  thrust  a  little 
tract  into  my  hand,  and  another  into  that  of  my  husband. 
On  looking  it  over,  we  found  it  to  be  a  genuine  methodisticai 
production,  on  the  most  approved  models  of  the  tract  socie- 
ty, in  French  and  English  ;  thereby  proving,  that  the  Pro- 
testant Jesuits  were  just  as  busy  as  the  Catholic.  When  we 
were  at  Geneva,  the  EngUsh  methodists  were  sowing  discord 
and  division  among  the  Genevese  communitj^,  which,  before 
the  arrival  of  these  doves  of  peace,  had  for  years  set  the 
most  exemplary  example  of  religious  toleration,  "  peace  and 
good  will  towards  man.'' 

France  is  not  the  country  of  methodism  ;  for  the  tempera- 
ment of  the  nation  does  not  lead  to  permanent  enthusiasm  ; 
but  among  some  of  the  protestants  of  rank,  it  has  crept  in, 
under  the  favour  o(  doctrinaire  politics  and  German  mysti- 
cism ;  and  it  is  the  religious  faith  of  the  canapi.  I  have  not 
read  Benjamin  de  Constant's  book  on  rehgion  ;  but  I  am 
told  that  it  leans  towards  a  mystic  methodism,  and  will  enti-* 
tie  him  to  be  enrolled  among  the  lesser  prophets  at  least  of 
the  sect 


THE  PROTESTANT  POrE.  151 

Apropos  to  religious  sects,  I  must  write  down,  while  I 
think  of  it,  an  higli  priest  of  another  persuasion,  the  head  of 
the  liberal  and  enlightened  protestants  of  France,  "  the  Pro- 
testant Pope,"  Monsieur  Marron.  He  was  one  of  those  who, 
on  my  recent  arrival  in  Paris,  I  had  not  the  courage  to  en- 
quire after.  So  many  years  had  elapsed,  since  I  last  parted 
with  him  in  the  literary  circle  of  Miss  Helen  Maria  Wil- 
liams ;  and  he  then  appeared  to  me  so  far  advanced  in  life, 
that  I  thought  the  chances  much  against  our  meeting  him 
again.  So  I  waited  till  the  accidents  of  conversation  should 
introduce  his  name,  and  declare  whether  he  were  still  in  ex- 
istence :  but  *'  oii,  la  vertu  va-t-elle  se  niclier,^^  and  at  eighty 
years  of  age  too  !     At  a  ball  in  the  Rue  de  Bourbon,  at  my 

excellent  friend,  Madame  L 's,  I  took  shelter  from  the 

heat  and  crowd  in  a  pretty  boudoir,  and  threw  myself  upon 
the  first  Ottoman  that  presented  itself,  tery  nearly  tumbling 
over  an  old  gentleman,  who  occupied  a  place  on  its  corner, 
near  the  door.  It  was  my  Protestant  Pope,  just  as  I  had  left 
him,  unchanged,  as  if  he  had  been  preserved  in  ice.  Our 
recognition  was  mutual  and  instantaneous,  cordial  and  gay. 

"  I  came  here,"  he  said,  "  expressly  to  meet  you,  and 
waited  for  a  break  in  the  circle  to  present  myself," 

"  I  would  have  gone  a  thousand  miles,"  I  replied,  "  to 
meet  you  ;  but  who  could  have  expected  to  see  your  Infalli- 
bility  at  a  ball  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  said,  with  vivacity  ;  "  you  see,  however, 
that  I  observe  les  biens^ances  ;   I  don't  dance." 

"  If  you  should,  you  must  give  me  the  preference." 

This  he  promised ;  and  so,  "the  world  forgetting,"'  and  for 
a  time  by  "  the  world  forgot,"  we  "  fell  to  discourse."  Among 
other  things,  I  said,  "  I  have  just  mentioned  your  name  in  a 
httle  scrap-book  of  mine,  which  is  now  printing  in  London ; 
I  have  said,  that  it  was  Bonaparte,  who  gave  you  the  name  of 
the  Protestant  Pope,  which  I  did  on  the  authority  of  poor  3Iiss 
Williams.     I  hope  I  am  right." 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  you  are  wrong,  or  leather  your  authority 
was.  It  was  Pius  VII.  who  gave  me  that  title.  Here  is  the 
anecdote.  I  had  alwa5'S  a  mania  for  tagging  Latin  verse  : 
and  on  the  marriage  of  the  emperor,  I  hit  oft'  an  ode  that 
pleased  me  much.  So,  as  I  was  upon  the  best  terms  possible 
with  his  Holiness,  and  he  was  a  bit  of  a  poet  himself,*  I  in- 

*  Tlie  following  couplet  was  sent  to  Monsieur  Marron  by  the  Pope, 
BJitl  Biay  serve  as  a  specimen  of  his  i)layful  wit. 


152  THK    PROTESTANT    POPE. 

closed  it  to  him,  in  a  letter,  not  of  the  most  pontifical  charac- 
ter. When  he  had  read  it,  he  presented  it,  with  a  solemn 
air,  to  the  Abbe  Testa.  'Here,  padre,' he  said,  'is  an  im- 
portant  document,  the  letter  of  one  Pope  to  another.'  Par- 
die  !  Testa  fit  dcs  grands  yeux.  '  Yes,'  said  his  Holiness, 
gravely,  'it  is  an  epistle  froui  a  Protestant  Pope  to  a  Catholic 
one.'  '■' 

"  That  Pius  the  Seventh,"  I  observed,  "  was  a  charming 
creature,  to  say  nothin<>- of  his  being  a  handsome  one.  '  Celui 
la  vauf  bien  Vautre  ;' — meaning  Pius  the  Sixth,  of  whom  I  had 
heard  anecdotes  at  Rome,  that  would  have  made  a  volume.'' 

"  1  knev/  him  too,"  said  Monsieur  Marron,  "  He  was  any 
thing  but  a  bigot,  and  had  many  amiable  qualities.  When 
he  was  a  prisoner  at  Valence,  orders  were  given  to  the  mili- 
tary commander.  Colonel  M.,  of  the  most  rigorous  character. 
The  Colonel  softened  them  down  to  the  utmost  of  his  power, 
short  of  positive  neglect  of  duty  and  disobedience.  Of  this 
generous  conduct  the  Pope  was  duly  sensible  ;  -but  almost 
afraid  of  noticing  it,  lest  he  should  commit  his  benefactor. 
The  night  before  he  died,  however,  he  sent  for  this  officer, 
and  presenting  him  with  a  superb  silver  gilt  cup,  (rescued 
from  the  papal  treasury,)  he  begged  of  him  to  accept  it,  as  a 
memorial  of  the  donor's  gratitude  and  esteem.  Col.  M., 
from  whom  I  had  the  anecdote,  felt  a  conscientious  hesitation 
at  accepting  so  valuable  a  present  from  his  illustrious  prison- 
er ;  and  after  expressing  his  thanks,  declined  it,  on  the  plea 
of  religion.  '  Perhaps  your  Holiness,'  he  said,  'is  not  aware 
that  you  are  making  this  valuable  and  almost  consecrated 
present  to  an  heretic.  I  am  of  the  church  of  Geneva.'  '  What 
has  that  to  do  with  it?'  said  the  Pope,  with  a  flash  of  anima- 
tion. Then  after  closing  his  heavy  eyes,  he  added,  in  a  tone 
of  exhaustion,  but  with  solemnity,  '  are  we  not  all  children  of 
the  same  Father  V  " 

Oh,  ye  catholic  and  protestant  bigots,  ye  mystic  metho- 
dists  and  intriguing  Jesuits,  why  did  you  not  hear  my  Pope 
tell  this  anecdote  of  the  Roman  Pope,  and  see  his  fine  vene- 
rable countenance  light  up  in  the  utterance  of  a  sentiment  in 
such  strict  accordance  with  his  own  faith  and  feelings  !  But  M 
there  is  no  making  Christians  of  sectarians.  You  may  make  ■ 
proselytes,  and  convert  to  and  from  every  sect  on  earth,  but  ^ 
you  will  not  bring  your  convertites  one  step  nearer  to  the  re^ 

"  Vertuetix  protestant,  que  je  soufiFre  a  vous  voir? 
Tirer  Marron  du  (eu,  nest  pas  en  mon  pouvolr." 
The  poLut  is  untraaslateable. 


THE  PKOTESTANT  POPE.  153 

ligion  whose  doctrine  is  love  ;  for  exclusion  is  in  their  mouths 
and  supremacy  in  their  hearts  ;  and  these  are  the  essence  ot" 
sectarianism,  call  it  by  what  denomination  you  will. 

But,  to  go  back  to  my  Turkish  ottoman  and  Protestant 
Pope  :  we  talked  much  and  long  of  our  celebrated  friend, 
Miss  Williams  ;  and  it  was  painful  to  learn,  that  she  had  fall- 
en  into  absolute  indigence  some  time  before  her  death,  a  cir- 
cumstance  which,  in  her  independent  spirit  she  endeavoured 
to  conceal  till  all  further  concealment  was  impossible.     Her 

excellent  nephew,  Mr.  C ,  a  respected  member  of  the 

Dutch  church,  and  one  of  the  most  celebrated  preachers  of 
Amsterdam,  having  at  last  learned  the  state  of  her  affairs, 
came  for  her  to  Paris,  and  took  her  home  to  Amsterdam  ;  but 
the  translation  from  her  own  delightful  circle  in  the  French 
capital,  and  the  different  order  of  society  in  Holland,  were  too 
much  for  her  spirits,  and  she  fell  into  such  melancholy  and 
ill-health,  that  her  constitution  sunk  under  the  change.  Her 
devoted  relation,  solicitous  even  for  her  pleasures,  placed  an 
annuity  on  her  head,  out  of  his  own  limited  means,  and 
brought  her  back  to  Paris.  He  brought  her  back,  however, 
only  to  convey  her  to  her  modest  tomb,  amidst  the  cypresses 
of  the  cimetiere  de  la  Chaise.  Thus  terminated  the  life  of 
Johnson's  "  elegant  muse,  in  sadness  and  poverty."  Her 
faults  were  attributable  to  the  singular  times  in  which  her 
ardent  feelings  and  brifliant  talents  developed  themselves. 
Born  and  bred  in  another  era,  she  would  have  directed  her 
original  talents  to  other  purposes,  and,  in  all  probability,  with 
a  happier  result.  Monsieur  Marron  agreed  with  me  in  this 
opinion. 

"  It  is,"  Isaid,  "  the  greatest  want  of  philosophy  to  judge 
of  people  otherwise  than  by  the  times  and  circumstances  in 
which  they  are  called  to  act." 

"  And  the  greatest  want  of  Christian  charity  too,"  he 
added.  The  charming  old  man  !  oh  !  how  I  wished  we  had 
a  dozen  such  Protestant  Popes  in  Ireland  ! 

As  a  circle  was  now  gathering  round  us,  we  broke  off  our 
intimate  conversation,  and  taking  His  Infallibility's  arm,  I 
went  with  him  to  join  the  dancers. 


[  154] 


MADAME  JACOTOT. 

On  my  return  to  Paris  from  Italy,  in  1820,  as  I  was  seat- 
ed, one  fine  morning,  making  up  a  dress,  while  the  well- 
known  Dr.  Gall  sat  laughing  and  chatting  beside  me,  in  that 
pleasant  tone  of  conversation,  which  none  but  those  who  have 
the  requisite  organ,  possess ;  he  suddenly  proposed  that  I 
should  exchange  my  needle  for  my  parasol,  and  pay  a  visit 
to  Madame  Jacotot,  the  celebrated  artist  and  enameller.  As 
I  have  always  preferred  walking  to  needle-work,  and  would 
walk  to  Mecca,  if  accompanied  by  such  an  agreeable  com- 
panion, I  did  not  hesitate,  and  the  next  moment  I  was  under 
weigh,  tottering  over  the  rough  pavement  of  the  fauhourg^ 
with  my  arm  in  Dr.  Gall's,  though,  strange  to  say,  my  head 
had  never  been  in  his  hands.  Dr.  Gall  was  one  of  those  per- 
sons  who  excite  an  interest  for  themselves,  independently  of 
their  especial  claims  to  notoriety  and  distinction ;  and  while 
the  man  conversed,  his  doctrines  were  forgotten.  This  is 
the  highest  social  triumph  which  can  be  accorded  to  genius; 
with  mediocrity  and  pretension,  the  author  and  the  work  are 
ever  uppermost  in  the  mind. 

Laughing  and  chatting,  we  arrived  at  Madame  Jacotot's  ; 
and  laughing  and  chatting  of  the  arts,  and  looking  over  the 
splendid  works  of  our  hostess,  we  passed  two  such  delightful 
hours,  that  my  impressions  of  this  eminent  lady  were  fresh  in 
my  memory,  on  my  return  to  France  in  1829;  but,  alas! 
there  was  now  no  longer  a  Gall  to  re-knit  the  chain  so  plea- 
santly formed,  and  so  abruptly  broken.  Other  links  of  asso- 
ciation were,  however,  not  wanting,  and  we  set  forth  With 
Monsieur  Bouchon,*  a  very  talented  acquaintance,  of  old 
date,  and  a  friend  of  Madame  Jacotot,  to  re-visit  the  first  fe- 
male artist  of  Europe,  and  to  feast  our  eyes  and  intellects 
with  her  works. 

She  was  no  longer  resident  in  the  locale,  where  I  had  last 
seen  her,  but  on  the  Quai  Voltaire,  and  in  the  apartments  of 
— Denon  !  It  was  some  minutes  before  I  could  recover  the 
shock  and  the  gloom,  which  association,  thus  suddenly  awa- 
kened, cast  over  me.  Every  thing,  too,  was  changed  ;  the 
walls,  once  embellished  by  monuments  of  the  arts  of  all  ages 

*  Now  engaged  in  editing  tiie  old  chronicles  of  France. 


MADAME  JACOTOT.  155 

a^id  nations,  were  now  nearly  bare.  Where  were  my  old 
acquaintances,  where  was  La  Bruyere's  magnificent  portrait ! 
and  the  well-remembered  Riiydesdale,  and  the  beautiful 
Bonaparte  dynasty,  which  the  late  gifted  master  of  these 
apartments  had  the  moral  courage  to  exhibit,  when  the  fol- 
lowers and  flatterers  of  that  family  hid  these  once  well-wor- 
shipped lares  and  penates  of  their  domestic  altars,  in  fear  and 
servility  ?  Where,  too,  were  the  superb  Egyptian  monu- 
ments, the  precious  stones  and  gems,  made  doubly  precious 
by  the  touch  of  genius !  The  Greek  antiquities,  the  Roman 
relics,  fragments  of  the  middle  ages,  and  the  splendid  speci- 
mens  of  modern  embellishments ;  the  consoles,  the  com- 
modes,  and  gueridons  of  the  time  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth ; 
and  the  Jupiter  Tonans  ;  the  hand  of  one  Venus,  and  the  foot 
of  another?  And  where  was  he  whose  pleasant  eloquence 
had  described  all  these  precious  objects  ;  where  were  his 
gracious  courtesies,  his  witty  repartee,  his  lively  anecdote, 
and  sparkling  bon-mot,  with  all  the  learning  of  the  profound 
antiquarian,  the  illumination  of  modern  philosophy,  and  the 
gallantry  of  the  old  manners? 

We  found  Madame  Jacotot  as  we  had  left  her,  like  one  of 
her  own  enamels,  apparently  beyond  the  reach  of  time  ;  and 
it  is  always  pleasant  to  find  genius  giving  a  promise  of  its 
own  durability.  The  perfection  to  which  she  has  brought 
her  art,  and  the  advantages  she  has  thereby  conferred  upon 
the  porcelain  manufacture,  fairly  entitle  her  to  the  eminent 
reputation  she  enjoys  among  the  artists  of  her  country.  En- 
amelling, since  the  days  of  Petitot,  had  fallen  in  France, 
with  one  or  two  eminent  exceptions  ;  and  it  had  degenerated 
into  mere  cup  and  saucer  painting ;  but  it  is  now  superior  to 
what  it  ever  had  been,  in  any  age  or  nation.  Adopting,  as 
the  material  which  forms  the  base  of  her  pictures,  thick  slabs 
of  porcelain,  whose  hardness  is  some  guarantee  against 
casual  destruction,  Madame  Jacotot  has  been  able  to  give 
them  dimensions  far  exceeding  the  productions  of  her  pre- 
decessors. Her  "  Holy  Family"  and  "  Belle  Jardiniere,'" 
from  Raphael ;  her  "  Hope"  and  "  Corinne"  from  the  well- 
known  and  beautiful  pictures  of  Gerard,  may  preserve  these 
trophies  and  triumphs  of  art,  when  the  canvas  and  colours  of 
the  sixteenth  and  of  the  nineteenth  centuries  shall  alike  have 
yielded  to  that  fiat,  from  which  the  escape,  even  for  a  centu- 
ry, is  nothing  less  than  a  miracle :  time  carries  with  it  so 
many  modes  of  destruction  !  But  to  mo,  the  most  interesting 
oi  her  works  is  that  unique  collection  of  enamels,  from  the 


156  PUHNITTTRE. 

portraits  of  all  that  was  eminent  and  historical  in  France--* 
the  Sevignes  and  the  Condes,  the  Ninons  and  the  Turennes 
— which  was  begun  for  the  cabinet  of  Louis  the  Eighteenth, 
and  is  now  finishing,  by  the  command  of  Charles  Dix :  an 
order  that  reflects  equal  credit  on  the  patron  and  the  protegee. 

Madame  Jacotot  shewed  us  some  fine  pictures  by  Bour- 
don and  other  eminent  artists.  There  were  portraits  of 
Christine,  Queen  of  Sweden,  and  of  her  victim,  Monaldes- 
chi ;  and  of  Anne  of  Austria,  in  the  decline  of  her  beauty 
and  power,  both,  however,  still  visible  in  her  face  and  air  ; 
— of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  j'eMwe  et  belle,  and  of  the  terri- 
ble Richelieu,  with  that  tigerish  mildness  of  countenance  so 
remarkable  in  the  cold  and  cruel, — the  impassibility  of  the 
insensible.  There  was  a  portrait  also  of  the  Regent,  upon 
whose  handsome  and  good-humoured  face  there  is  nothing  of 
the  "  light,  revelling,  and  protesting"  look,  a  roue  should 
possess. 

Madame  Jacotot,  besides  being  one  of  the  .first  artists 
of  her  day,  is  a  most  agreeable  and  intelligent  woman  of  the 
world  ;  such  as  France,  of  all  countries,  is  most  capable  of 
producing.  Her  manner,  like  her  pencil,  is  full  of  that  life 
and  vivacity  which  is  so  much  more  durable  than  the  forms 
it  animates.  [  could  not  help  telhng  her,  she  would  take  a 
long  time  to  grow  old  ;  an'd  she  returned  the  compliment 
with  much  more  grace  than  it  was  made. — I  trust  we  were 
both  true  prophets. 


FURNITURE. 

On  paying  our  first  visit  to  the  Count  de  Segur,  I  was 
greatly  struck  by  finding  the  stairs  of  his  hotel  carpetted  ! 
— The  stairs  of  a  Parisian  hotel  carpetted  ! ! —  Our  carriage 
was  shortly  afterwards  stopped  by  a  crowd  of  vehicles  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Marc  ;  so  I  amused  my  enntd  by  read- 
ing the  shop-boards  about  me  (an  amusement,  to  which  I  am 
much  given).  The  first  that  met  my  eye  was  "  Grand  de- 
pdt  de  Tapis."  I  asked  the  shopman  (who  came  to  the  car- 
riage window  to  know  if  I  wanted  any  thing,)  if  he  had  any 
English  carpets.  He  answered  rather  evasively,  after  the 
Irish  fashion  ;  "We  have  the   most  beautiful   varieties  of 


woollen  goods  recently  introduced  for  furniture  ;  and  as  for 
carpeting,  we  hav^  les phis  superbs  tapis  d'Aubisso?i,  etles  mO' 
queues  Ics  plus  nouvelles  ;  les  tapis  jaspers,  les  tapis  a  la  Ve- 
nelienne,  et  les  tapis  de  drop  imprime  de  Ternaux.^' 

In  short,  I  found  that  the  looms  of  NVilton  and  Kiddermin- 
ster were  at  work  in  France  ;  and  that  the  new  wants  of  ci- 
vilization, felt  by  all  the  other  grades  of  society,  as  well  as 
by  the  highest,  were  originating  new  branches  of  industry 
and  ingenuity,  and  multiplying  that  best  of  all  classes,  la 
classe  industrielle.  What  would  Madame  de  Sevigne,  or 
Madame  Lafayette,  say  to  these  rarpets  of  many  names  and 
textures  ?  or  la  Grande  Mademoiselle,  who  carried  about 
her  scrap  of  foot-cloth,  as  a  royal  privilege,  destined  only  to 
be  placed  before  the  fauteuil, — that  bone  of  contention  to  all 
the  potentates  of  Europe  ?  What  would  Cardinal  de  Riche^ 
lieu  say  to  a  shopkeeper  of  the  Rue  St.  Denis,  with  his  feet 
on  a  rug,  and  his  body  reposing  on  piles  of  cushions  ;  while 
his  Eminence,  the  real  king  of  France,  and  the  dictator  of 
Europe,  was  obliged,  amidst  all  his  power,  to  strew  his  room 
with  rushes,  and  was  compelled  to  forego  the  use  of  foot- 
cloth  and  carpet,  in  the  presence  of  the  royal  puppet  whom 
he  governed  and  despised  ?  These  were  not  the  proposed 
ends  of  the  miserable,  laborious  intrigues,  and  atrocious 
crimes,  which  he  mistook  for  government.  They  have  how- 
ever been  attained,  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  him,  and  of 
his  class  to  maintain  the  people  in  ignorance  and  in  slavery; 
and  could  he  look  forth  from  the  tomb,  (that  truth-telling  le- 
veller,) the  memory  of  his  tortuous  and  blood-thirsty  policy 
would  be  still  further  embittered  by  the  spectacle  of  all  th© 
good,  he  had  in  vain  faboured  to  prevent,  and  by  the  light  it 
casts  on  the  mean  and  paltry  ambition  which  governed  his  po- 
litical existence. 

On  every  side,  and  in  every  street,  I  found  new  marts  open- 
ed for  the  comfort  and  accommodation  of  the  people,  whose 
diffused  wealth  and  wide-spread  ease  are  the  fruits  of  the  re- 
volution, which,  with  all  its  obstacles  and  all  its  errors,  has  ad- 
vanced, and  will  still  further  advance,  the  civilization  and 
the  happiness  of  Europe.  Qf  these  new  adaptations  to  the 
improved  condition  of  man,  the  bazaars  are  the  most  re- 
markable. There,  in  a  purer  air,  and  under  good  shelter, 
the  purchaser  may  suit  his  taste  and  his  purse,  from  one  franc 
to  a  million  ;  and  there,  the  prince  or  the  pauper  may  furnish 
his  palace  or  his  cabin,  witli  all  that  luxury  demands,  or  the 
most  restricted  want  may  require. 
Vol.  I.— 14 


i58  AtJ  GRAND  VOLTAIRE. 

But  though  improvement  may  be  traced  through  all  classes 
of  society,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  there  is  more  of 
English  comfort  and  of  Italian  taste,  more  of  the  real  accom- 
modations of  life,  and  of  the  arts  which  embellish  and  adorn  it, 
in  the  residences  of  that  class,  now  distinguished  by  the  epi- 
thet "  industrielle,"  than  among  the  remaining  fragments  of 
the  ancient  noblesse,  or  the  professional  and  agricultural  popu- 
lation. France  certainly  was  the  most  conventional  country 
in  the  world  ;  and  even  now,  from  the  salle  de  Grace,  (the 
reception-room  of  the  Dauphiness,)  down  to  the  taudis  of  the 
Swiss,  or  up  to  the  cinquieme  etage  of  the  sempstress,  the 
same  model  of  furniture  still  prevails,  differing  only  in  the 
value  of  the  material,  or  the  art  with  which  it  is  constructed. 
The  furniture,  de  rigueur,  is  every  where  the  same.  The 
pendule  on  the  chimney-piece,  with  its  attendant  supporters, 
two  flambeaux,  flanked  by  as  many  vases.  A  canap^  at  the 
head  of  the  room,  a  set  of  chairs  regimented  against  the 
walls,  a  table  in  the  centre,  a  gueridon  in  the  corner,  while 
the  eternal  alcove  contains  every  where  the  same  formed 
bed,  decked  as  tastefully  with  calico  at  a  franc  a  yard,  as 
with  embroidered  muslin  at  a  louis.  Such  is  the  salon  of  a 
princess,  and  the  lodge  of  the  porter  de  la  vieille  roche, — the 
last  classes  where  innovation  or  improvement  ever  make  their 
approach. 


AU  GRAND  VOLTAIRE. 

1  REALLY  believe  that  nothing  remains  in  France  precisely 
as  we  left  it.  To  us,  at  least,  it  appears  that  every  thing  is 
changed.  Returning  from  the  faubourg,  by  the  Rue  de  Bac, 
I  looked  up,  asT  passed  the  Quai  Voltaire,  to  recognize  the 
old  and  gloomy  facade  and  the  closed  shutters  of  the  apart- 
ment,  in  which  Voltaire  died,  and  about  which  there  was  such 
a  mystery,  and  so  many  stories  in  circulation.  But  the  por- 
trait of  the  literary  monarch  over  the  door  of  the  bookseller's 
shop  on  the  Rez  de  Chaussee,  excepted,  (and  even  that  was 
fresh  painted,)  nothing  now  existed  in  statu  quo. 

The  mysterious  shutters  were  removed,  the  windows  were 
widely  open,  the  front  of  the  house  spick  and  span  refreshed, 


AU  GRAND  VOLTAIRE.  159 

and  every  thing  about  it  as  smart  and  as  clean  as  the  prettiest 
hotel  in  the  Chaussie  d'Antin. 

The  trick  played  upon  the  Freres  TMatins,  by  the  Marquis 
de  Viliette,  respecting  this  now  celebrated  edifice,  is  plea- 
santly  told  by  Grimm.  The  building  had  originally  formed 
a  part  of  the  vast  Convent  of  the  Thealins,  and  stood  next 
to  the  hotel  of  Viliette,  who,  either  through  necessity  or  ca- 
price, was  induced  to  rent  it  from  the  monks,  at  an  enormous 
price,  and  he  united  it  to  his  own  house  by  opening  a  door  of 
communication.  The  lower  part,  which  looked  on  the 
Quai  Voltaire,  he  re-let  to  a  print  and  bookseller,  and  he 
made  it  a  condition  of  the  agreement,  that  a  sign  should  be 
placed  over  the  door,  with  an  inscription,  in  large  gold  letx 
ters, 

"  AU  GRAND  VOLTAIRE." 

The  Thcatins  were  in  despair  ;  that  this  rigid  order  shoul(| 
live  at  the  sign  of  the  "  The  Great  Voltaire,"  the  arch-enemy 
of  the  church,  and,  therefore,  in  their  eyes,  the  patriarch  of 
infidelity,  was  perfectly  monstrous  !  Yet  remonstrance  was 
vain,  they  could  not  "  rail  the  seal  from  off  the  bond  ;"  and, 
what  was  worse,  a  process  would  have  converted  a  ridicule 
into  a  scandal.  So  the  sign  remained  undisturbed,  and  it 
held  its  place  when  the  Th^ativs  had  lost  theirs,  and  had 
passed  away,  and  were  swept  from  the  recollections  of  a 
people,  who  still  sing,  "  et  Voltaire  est  immortel.^^* 

At  this  hotel  Voltaire  arrived  in  1778,  accompanied  by  his 
niece,  Madame  Denis,  where  he  was  received  by  his  beloved 
"jBeZ/e  and  Bonne,"  the  then  lovely  Marquise  de  Viliette. 
"  He  occupies,"  says  Grimm,  (writing  at  the  moment,)  "  a 
cabinet,  which  rather  resembles  the  &OMr/o«r  of  voluptuousness, 
than  the  sanctuary  of  the  Muses ;  and  it  is  there,  they  say, 
that  Monsieur  de  Voltaire  intends  to  pass  his  Easter,  [fairc 
ses  Paqiies)."  In  this  house,  at  eighty-four  years  of  age,  he 
received,  not  only  the  homage  of  all  France,  but  nearly  of 
all  Europe,  to  which  he  replied,  "  with  all  that  wit,  agreeabi. 
lity,  and  politeness,  of  which  he  alone  had  preserved  the 
tone."  Here,  the  night  after  his  arrival,  he  recited,  rather 
than  he  read,  the  whole  of  his  tragedy  of  "  Irene,"  to  a  select 
society,  and  sat  up  till  the  following  morning,  correcting  the 
last  tv/o  acts  !     Here,  too,  he  died,  exhausted  by  the  bustle 

*  Finale  of  the  "  Mariage  de  Figaro." 


160  READERS  AND  AUTHORS. 

and  fatigue  of  a  Parisian  life,  to  which  he  had  so  long  been 
unaccustomed,  and  by  the  anxiety  of  all  classes  to  behold  and 
admire  him,  rather  than  from  an  absolute  decay  of  his  forces, 
even  at  that  advanced  age. 

What  was  the  fate  of  this  historical  edifice  during  the  re- 
volution, 1  know  not ;  but,  in  1820,  when  we  passed  through 
Paris,  the  shutters  and  doors  of  Voltaire's  "  voluptuous  cabi- 
net," and  bed-room,  remained  constantly  closed  ;  there  was 
even  a  tradition  that  I  hey  were  not  to  be  opened  till  fifty  years 
after  his  death,  according  to  his  own  express  and  specific  in- 
junction. Many  hopes  and  surmises  were  indulged  by  lite- 
rary credulity  on  this  subject,  which  were  all  dissipated  in 
1829,  (a  few  months  ago,)  by  the  opening  of  the  apartments, 
on  the  death  of  the  proprietor,  a  very  old  and  singular  lady, 
of  the  family  of  Moninu.rency.  The  mysterious  apartment 
^yas  then  found  in  just  such  a  state  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, after  the  lapse  of  so  long  a  time,  all  dust  and  decay. 
The  seci'et  of  its  cloture  lay  sim[)ly  in  the  oddity  and  indo- 
lence  of  the  old  lady,  to  whom  it  belonged.  The  house,  with 
some  others  in  her  possession,  had  fallen  out  of  repair  many 
years  back,  and  as  she  would  neither  take  the  trouble,  nor  ga 
to  the  expense  of  refitting  them,  she  had  kept  them  closed,, 
and  left  to  her  heirs  the  pleasure  and  the  trouble  of  solving  a 
mystery,  which  turned  out,  like  so  many  others  of  the  world's 
making,  to  be  no  mystery  at  all.  No  manuscript  satires,  too 
horrible  for  cotemporary  eyesight :  no  secret  m^mcires,  toa 
dangerous  for  cotemporary  publication  :  nothing  to  fight  ovei:, 
nothing  to  burn  :  not  a  scrap,  even  of  a  letter,  rewarded  the 
patient  expectation  of  the  badauds  of  Paris  ;  and  all  the  sec- 
taries of  all  the  academies  cried  out,  with  him,  in  Voltaire'& 
own  "  Micromegas,"  "  Ah,je  in'en  etais  bien  doufeJ''* 


READERS  AND  AUTHORS. 

Talking  the  other  da)^  of  the  strange  state  of  society,  wheit 
such  men  as  De  Grammont  and  Pomenars,  (botlt  convicted 
cheats,)  were  considered  the  grace  and  ornament  of  la  cour: 
et  la  ville,  it  was  mentioned  that  the  present  representative! 

*  "  1  thought  as  much." 


KEADEES  AND  AUTHORS.  161 

of  the  ancient  house  of  De  Grammont,  the  Due  de  Guiche. 
was  occupied  in  writing  a  work  upon  the  amehoration  of  the 
breed  of  horses,  in  France.  When  the  witty  Laurigais,  in 
reply  to  Louis  the  Sixteentli's  question  of  "  what  he  had 
learned  in  England,"  had  told  the  king  that  "  he  had  learned 
d  penser,  sire  T^  Louis  sneeringly  rejoined,  "d  panser  les 
chevaux .'"  But  notwithstanding  this  royal  bon-mot,  I  will 
venture  to  say  ihatif  the  Due  de  Guiche  learned  thus  much  in 
England,  and  no  more,  he  still  had  a  decided  advantage  over 
his  celebrated  ancestor  ;  and  I  hope  he  may  succeed  as  well 
in  riding  down  to  posterity  on  his  chivalresque  production,  as 
the  other  has  done  by.  his  inspiration  of  that  brilliant  work, 
which  so  amusingly  records  the  fatuity,  insensibility,  cowai*- 
dice,  fraud,  and  accumulated  vice  of  the  court  of  Charles  the 
Second.  The  subject  chosen  may  not  be  quite  as  entertain- 
ing ;  but  as  it  involves  tacts  requiring  research,  observation, 
reflection,  and  some  practice,  it  shews  that  the  noble  author 
must  have  done  something  m  ire  than  daudle  out  his  days  as 
his  forefathers  did,  in  the  oed  de  hmuf,  or  disgrace  them  at  the 
gaming  table  :  and  in  writing  on  the  improved  breed  of  hor- 
ses, he  will  in  all  'likelihood  contribute  in  his  own  person  to 
the  improvement  of  the  "  order"  to  which  he  belongs. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  so  much  reading  ?"*  said  Louis  the 
Fourteenth,  to  his  too  faithful  journalist,  Dangeau.  It  is  an 
historical  fact,  that  this  much-lauded  monarch  never  read 
Pascal  ;  and  that  though  he  called  the  Telemachus  of  Fe- 
nelon,  "  a  foolish  book,"  he  never  perused  it.  To  the  Due 
de  M-arsillac,f  he  once  replied,  "  I  hate  persons  who  reason," 
and  the  Abbe  Longuerue  declared  of  him,  that  he  never  read 
a  book  in  the  world,  save  his  prayer  book,  [&es  Hcures)  but 
that  he  was  very  learned  in  ceremonies  :  "that,"  (says  the 
Abbe)  "  is  his  sphere."  All  that  had  gone  before  him,  ^vas 
lost  to  him  ;  for  he  never  opened  a  work  of  history  ;  and  of 
his  own  times,  he  was  himself,  in  his  own  eyes,  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end.  It  was  this  profundity  of  ignorance,  (stu- 
diously maintained  by  Anne  of  Austria,  and  by  Mazarin,  for 
the  express  purpose  of  their  policy  and  power)  that  placed 
him  so  abjectly  under  the  control  of  his  priestly  directors. 
When  his  Jesuit  confessor,  Le  Tellier,  (to  quiet  those  perio- 
dical scruples,  which  came  with  indigestion  after  his  full-fed 

*  "  A  quoi  bon  tant  lire?"  was  his  question  to  tbe  most  obsequious 
of  courtiers,  and  most  indefatigable  of  journalists. 

t  Son  of  the  celebrated  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  whom  the  king: 
thus  cut  abort  in  the  middle  of  a  very  clever  and  ingenious  definition^. 

14* 


162  KEADERS  A3JD  AUTHORS^ 

media  nocJie,)  assured  him,  "  that  all  the  goods  of  his  subjects 
were  his  own  private  property  ;  and  that,  in  takinjj  them  to 
his  personal  u&e,  he  only  took  what  belonged  to  him," — he 
believed  the  dictum,  and  acted  upon  it.  Alternately  the  dupe 
of  his  confessors  and  his  mistresses,  he  Jioped  to  expiate  by 
a  timid  submission  to  the  former,  the  irregularities  which  he 
committed  with  the  latter  ;  and  supposing  that  he  had  secur- 
ed  salvation  by  the  dragonades,  he  reproached  heaven  with 
neglrct  of  his  worldly  affairs,  during  ihe  reverses  of  his  lat- 
tf'r  life  ;  and  was  heard  to  exclaim,  "  how  then,  has  God  for- 
gotten all  that  I  have  done  for  him  !"* 

There  is  now  scai'cely  a  porter,  a  water  carrier,  or  a  com- 
missioner, running  the  streets  of  Paris,  who  is  not  more  learn- 
ed and  more  enlightened,  than  this  royal  patron  of  letters  of 
the  Augustan  age  of  France.  In  every  hand  there  is  now 
to  be  found  a  book  !  Enter  into  the  rudest  porter's  lodge  of 
the  simplest  hotel,  in  the  remotest  quarter,  and  you  will  dis- 
cover cheap  editions  of  the  best  authors,  which  are  beyond 
the  means  only  of  the  very  lowest  indigence  ;  there,  too, 
are  to  be  seen  lithographic  copies  of  the  historical  pictures 
of  Gerard,  Gros,  and  otlier  eminent  artis!^,  whose  works  arai 
instruction  under  the  most  obvious  torm  ;  while  the  humr 
blest  mechanic  finds  a  leisure  hour  for  the  acquirement  of 
knov/ledge,  if  it  be  only  in  following  the  amusing  experi- 
ments of  the  itinerant  professors  of  physics,  in  the  Champs 
Elysees.  Talking  on  this  subject  to  the  obliging  editor  of 
the  Revue  Encyclopcdiqiie,  he  said,  "  vol.  must  come  with 
me  to  see  an  illustration  of  your  remark,  in  the  person  of  a 
self-educated  boot-maker,  who  has  constructed  an  astrono- 
mical toy  of  great  ingenuity. 

"  I  desire  no  better,"  I  replied  ;  and  accordingly  the  next 
morning  we  paid  a  visit  to  this  Newton  of  the  awl  and  last. 

The  humble  dwelling  of  the  self-taught  astronomer  lay  in 
the  old  quarter  of  the  Louvre,  in  the  Rue  des  PrHres,  be- 
hind one  of  the  most  ancient  and  historical  churches  of  Pa- 
ris  (that  of  St.  Germain  L'Auxerrois).  In  passing  through 
this  royal  parish,  church,  to  make  our  egress  through  a  late- 
ral door,  we  lingered  for  a  moment  in  the  choir  and  aisles-^ 
what  a  scene  !  and  what  recollections  !  The  tapestry  hang- 
ings, used  for  the  J'He.dieu,  were  not  yet  taken  down.  The 
dingy  obscurity  of  its  dim  religious  light,  its  rude  architec- 
lural  forms,  and  tinsel  ornaments,  recalled  the  barbarism  of 

*  "  Dieu  done  a  oublie  tout  ce  que  j'ai  fait  pour  lui  I" 


READERS  AT^D  AtJTHOKS.  163 

those  times,  when  its  bell  tolled  for  the  massacre  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, while  the  work  of  murder  was  going  on. 

What  a  contrast  between  the  people  of  Paris  at  that  epoch, 
and  daring  the  barricades  which  followed,  and  the  present 
population,  when  one  of  their  lowest  class  is  drawing  the  at- 
tention of  foreigners  by  his  scientific  la"ljours  and  ingenious 
inventions ! 

Our  astronomer  was  lodged  on  the  second  floor  in  one  of 
those  dreary  edifices  so  common  in  the  old  quarters  of  Paris, 
in  which  a  narrow  entry  and  steep  flight  of  stairs  lead  to  ma- 
ny separate  apartments,  like  the  flats  of  Edinburgh.  I  was 
struck  by  the  neatness  of  his  little  room  and  by  the  ornaments 
on  his  chimney  :  the  never-failing  penduJe,  the  candlesticks 
and  vases  of  flowers.  His  "  systeme  du  ?nonde,  mis  en  action" 
occupied  the  centre.  As  I  do  not  profess  to  be  blessed  with 
a  very  mechanical  head,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  this 
instrument,*  or  to  criticise  its  utility.  But  even  to  me  it  gave 
evidence  of  intelligence,  industry,  patience,  and  an  inquir- 
ing mind,  which,  under  happier  circumstances,  might  have 
placed  its  owner  on  the  arm-chairs  of  the.  Insiititt.  Where 
such  are  the  amusements  of  the  laborious  classes,  how  vain 
and  futile  must  be  the  hope  of  duping  and  misgoverning  them  ! 

"  Tlie  following  is  tbe  account  given  of  tliis  plebeian  orrery  in  a  pro- 
gramme on  flashy  yellow  paper,  presented  to  us  on  entrance: — 

"  Systeme  du  Monde,  mis  en  Action, 

"  Demonstration  du  mouvement  de  rotation  de  laTerre  au  centre  da 
Globe  Celeste,  systeme  de  Ptok'mee  avec  modification.  La  terre,  par 
son  mouvement  d'ascension  et  declinaison,  tournant  toujours  a  gauche, 
devant  la  lumiere  qui  reprt'sente  le  Soleil,  les  Villes  qui  passent  de- 
yant  cet  astre,  prennent  tour-alour  I'heure  de  midi.  Ce  Systeme  de- 
montre  le  croissant  et  decroissant  des  jours,  les  Eclipses  de  Lune  et  de 
Soleil;  dontie  I'heure  qu'il  est  dans  les  principales  villes  du  monde  et 
des  quatre  Saisons  ;  il  demontre  la  longitude  et  les  degres  du  Meridien, 
sans  avoir  recours  a  une  Eclipse  de  Lune  ni  autres  signes  vus  dans  le 
Giel. 

"  II  fait  connaltre  aussi  le  nombre  de  lieues  que  la  terre  fait  par  heure 
et  par  minute. 

"  Le  globe  celeste,  dans  lequel  est  le  globe  terrestre,  a  dix  pieds  de 
diametre,  monte  surson  mecanisrae  qui  fait  tout  mouvoir,  sans  y  tou- 
cher. L'on  peut  par  ce  moycn,  qui  n'a  pas  encore  paru,  apprendre  la 
Geographie  en  eu  de  lemons. 

"  Rue  des  PrStres  Saint- GemiainV  Auxerrois^, 
No.  13,  au  detiziime  pr6s  du  Louvre." 


[  164  ] 


FRENCH  DANDIES. 

We  attended  a  very  splendid  public  charity  ball,  given 
for  the  benefit  of  the  families,  whose  property  had  recently 
been  destroyed  by  a  fire  on  the  Boulevards.  Where  chari- 
ty  and  dancing  go  together,  the  French  may  always  be  count- 
ed on ;  for  they  include  the  happiest  of  the  national  virtues, 
and  the  most  prevalent  of  the  national  tastes.  The  hal  de 
Vincendie  was  magnificent  in  all  its  arrangements.  The 
suite  of  rooms  of  a  fine  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  was  dra- 
ped from  the  garde  meuhle  by  the  permission  of  the  king, 
who,  by  an  inconsistency  not  uncommon  in  the  most  despo- 
tically mclined  sovereigns,  is  the  first  to  come  forward  where 
charity  is  to  be  encouraged  by  royal  example,  however  slack 
when  justice  is  to  be  done  to  all,  by  royal  abnegation.  The 
hangings  were  of  scarlet  cloth,  bordered  with  gold  and  in- 
termingled with  garlands  of  flowers  and  variegated  lamps. 
The  stairs  and  corridors  resembled  the  Socages  of  old  French 
vignettes.  The  dresses  of  the  women  were  as  fresh  as  the 
flowers  ;  and  their  fashions  as  uniform  as  the  laws  of  vegeta- 
tion itself.  The  men  were  evidently  thinking  much  more  of 
the  women,  than  of  themselves  ;  every  woman  was  a  petite 
souzeraine ;  and  every  man  their  lige  for  the  night.  The 
handsomest  man  perhaps  of  Europe  was  present,  dark  and 
dazzling,  and  moving  through  the  intricacies  of  the  quadrille 
with  a  Spanish  gravity,  that  recalled  to  me  a  picture  of  the 
ball,  given  at  the  Escurial  to  Charles  the  First,  when  Prince 
of  Wales.*  It  was  the  Count  de  Lulli ; — his  vis-a-vis,  in 
the  dance,  was  his  royal  wife  ;  and  if  the  sister  of  Don  Mi- 
guel might  be  supposed  to  share  the  temperament  which  has 
led  her  brother  to  the  commission  of  crimes  that  have  mark- 
ed him  for  universal  execration,  her  gentle  melancholy  and 
sweet  countenance  at  on.ce  refute  the  supposition,  and  bear 
testimony  to  the  amiability  and  goodness,  which  are  assigned 
as  her  characteristics  by  all  who  know  her. 

It  was  upon  this,  and  on  other  similar  occasions  that  I  had 

*  This  admirable  picture,  by  a  cotemporary  painter,  is  at  the  castle  of 
Malahide,  the  seat  of  my  old  and  valued  friend,. Colonel  Talbot,  the: 
Member  for  Dublin. 


FRENCH  DAKDIES.  165 

the  opportunity  to  remark  how  much  less  the  dandy  species 
is  prevalent  in  France  than  in  England.  Coxcomhry  be- 
longs  so  little  to  the  tastes  and  habits  of  the  intellectual  and 
studious  youth  of  that  country  or  to  the  popular  notions  of 
equality,  that  the  "  t7ierveilleux,"  (as  the  Parisian  dandy  is 
called)  is  regarded  ahnost  universally  as  a  ridicule,  rather 
than  as  a  model.  "  His  honours  cleave  not  to  him,"  even 
"  by  the  aid  of  use  ;"  and  however  daily  and  punctual  he 
may  be  in  his  attentions  to  the  toilet,  he  has  always  the 
air  of  being  encUmancJie  ;*  for  he  is  sure  of  being  exaggerat- 
ed in  every  ilem  of  the  mode,  from  the  feshiori  of  his  cravat, 
to  the  tie  of  his  shoestring.  The  English,  however,  among 
the  other  sttperiorites  which  they  have  generously  endeavour, 
ed  to  impart  to  their  French  neighbours  (such  as  the  theory 
and  practice  of  the  law  of  libel,  aristocratic  influence,  and 
the  art  of  managing  elections)  have  very  much  Anglified  the 
notions  of  the  youth  of  that  class,  with  which  they  come  into 
frequent  contact,  on  the  subject  of  dress.  There  are  French- 
men  even  of  sense  and  spirit,  who  have  not  studied  Horace 
on  the  dangers  of  imitation  ;  and  who  in  adopting  the  neat- 
ness,  have  also  appropriated  the  absurdities  of  English  fash- 
ion. 

A  merveiUevx  of  no  inferior  grade  in  the  muster  roll  of 
Parisian  mode,  did  me  the  honour  to  give  me  his  arm  the 
other  day,  to  the  Bibliolheqne  du  Roi,  for  the  purpose  of  de=. 
ciding  a  dispute  on  the  dress  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  in  his 
young  days,  by  consulting  the  treasury  of  costumes,  in  its  ca- 
binet of  engravings.  As  we  passed  along  the  Rue  Richelieu, 
I  saw.  a  very  pretty  saut  de  lit  a  la  giraffe,^  suspended  at  a 
shop  door,  and  labelled  at  a  very  reasonable  price.  I  stopped, 
and  said  that  I  should  like  to  buy  that  article,  if  I  could  but 
smuggle  it  over  to  Ireland. 

"  Quelle  horreur  /"  exclaimed  my  dandy,  dragging  me  on. 
"  Such  a  thing  in  your  maison-bijou,  (as  M — t — llo  tells  me 
it  is)  would  give  it  a  mauvais  ion,  from  which  it  would  never 
recover." 

"  As  how  V  I  asked. 

^'  In  the  first  place,  because  the  giraffe  has  gone  complete- 
ly out  of  mode,  particularly  sinccMhe  arrival  of  {he  haleine 
royale  ;  and,  secondly,  because  it  is  definitively  fixed,  that 
sauis  de  lit  of  carpet  are  to  be  replaced  by  tigers'  skins." 

*  111  Etonian  English,  "  a  Sunday  buck." 
t  "  Saut  de  lit'''  a  bedside  carpet. 


166  FRENCH  DANDIES. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  I  askpd,  laughing,  "  that  your  idol,  fash, 
ion,  has  such  an  universal  worship,  ihat  even  furniture  must 
submit  to  its  ephemeral  caprices  and  tyranny  .'" 

"  Caprices  !—  call  them  laws,  madam,  for  in  general  they 
have  all  the  wisdom  and  expediency  of  the  best  laws  ;  and 
every  thing  that  is  personal  should  benefit  by  their  operation. 
A  friend  of  mine  lately  lost  the  chance  of  getting  into  the 
coterie  du  pelil  chateau,  merely  by  having  -a  jardiniere  in  her 
salon  filled  with  all  sorts  and  kinds   of  finwers,  when  visited 

by   the    Duchesse   de  F ;  for,    after  all,   the    Chavssee 

d^Antin  is  always  some  days  behind  hand  in  fashion  with  the 
faubourg." 

"  You  really  do  not  mean  that  ?''  I  said,  with  a  mental  re- 
ference to  that  banished  article  of  furniture,  still  standing  in 
my  own  house,  the  useful  and  elegant  jardiniere  / 

"  Indeed  I  do :  the  jardiniere  is  out  of  date,  these  three 
weeks ;  and  it  is  now  only  fit  to  figure  at  the  door  of  an 
ebeniste  as  a  piece  of  shop  furniture,  or  at  a  second-hand  ba- 
zsLSLr  on  the  Boulevards.  This  spring,  the  corheille  only  is 
seen,  in  every  elegant  salon  x—sans  la  corheille,  point  de 
salut." 

"  But  the  corheille  holds  so  much  less." 

"  To  be  sure.  That  is  the  reason  of  its  superiority.  A 
single  plant  of  the  Bengal  rose,  or  Camellia,  is  as  much  as 
civilized  organs  can  bear,  or  the  7node  dujour  will  authorise. 
All  beyond  that,  sente  le  marcM  des  Jleurs,  or  a  fHe  de  noce 
at  the  Grande  Chaumiere." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  have  a  great  deference  for  the  mode, 
because  I  know  its  omnipotence  ;  but  on  the  chapter  of  flow- 
ers I  withdraw  my  allegiance.  It  is  impossible  to  have  too 
many  either  of  their  hues  or  odours." 

"  That  is  so  English  !  You  British  have  organs  for  which 
no  odour  is  too  strong,  no  colour  too  glaring.  Lavender  is 
the  basis  of  all  your  perfumes,  and  you  have  no  idea  of  a  co- 
lour  that' is  not  prismatic." 

"  But  what  others  are  there  than  those  of  the  rainbow  ? 
There  may  be  shades,  if  you  will,  but  not  colours,  surely." 

*'  Oh,  qu'elle  est  charmante  avec  son  arc-en-ciel  /"  said  my 
merveilleux,  stopping  to  laugh.  "  Why  what  colour  is  this  ?" 
pointing  to  his  waistcoat. 

"  That  ?"  I  said,  sorely  puzzled  at  the  equivocal  hue :  but 
willing  to  shew  my  little  science,  I  added,  "  that  is  no  colour, 
'Us  a  nuance, — what  you  call  couleur  d'un  soupir  6touffe.^^* 

*  "  T'te  colour  of  a  suppressed  sigh." 


TORtO^sl's.  167 

"  Pas  mal,^^  he  said,  conceitedly.  "  though  it  is  not  precise- 
ly that.  The  soupir  ^toiiffe,  which  is  as  old  as  the  time  of  the 
good  Louis  XVIII.,  of  beatific  memory,  was  a  vaporeux  orien- 
ial,  formed  by  the  blending  of  orange,  white,  and  blue.  This, 
however,  is  the  last  invented  colour  of  the  season." 

"  Why  that  is  the  old  boue  de  Nile,  that  was  the  rage  when 
I  left  Paris  in  1820." 

"  Oh  !  ma  chere  dame,^'  replied  the  merveilleiix,  piqued  and 
mortified  by  the  remark  ;  "  there  is  no  contending  with  peo- 
ple who  go  back  to  the  year  — 20.  I  agree  with  you  and 
Solomon  that  there  is  nothing  positively  new  under  the  sun. 
I  don't,  however,  study  the  chronicles  ;  and  I  assure  you  that 
the  most  original  colour  which  the  mode  has  invented  or 
adopted  is  this,  which  I  have  the  honour  of  signalizing  to 
you.  The  waistcoat  itself,  which  was  first  seen  yesterday  in 
the  Tuileries,  and  which  to-morrow  will  be  seen  every  where, 
will,  next  week,  be  seen  no  where,  except  in  the  quarter  of 
the  Marais,  the  grand  repository  of  all  forgotten  things,  and 
the  antipodes  of  the  mode." 

"  And  what  is  the  stuff?"  I  asked.  "  It  is  very  odd."  "  Je 
le  crois  bien,"  he  replied,  triumphantly.  "  The  stuff  is  a  Zin. 
zoline,  the  cut  is  a  la  Marino  Faliero,  and  the  whole  is  con- 
fectionn^  by  De  Lisle  of  the  Rue  St.  Anne." 

I  thought  I  should  never  get  home  to  write  all  this  down  ;— 
but  there  it  is. 


TORTONI'S. 

Having  refused  all  invitations,  we  gave  ourselves  up  one 
Sunday  evening  to  the  chances  of  the  Boulevards,  without 
rudder  or  compass. — "  Aux  Boidevards^^  was  the  mot 
d'ordre.  *'  Des  Invalides  V  asked  our  coachman,  with  an 
ironical  smile. 

"  Comme  vans  voidez"  we  replied,  and  his  volition  took 
us  to  the  Boulevards  ItuUens,  which  he  crept  through  as  if 
by  stealth,  as  far  as  the  site  of  the  once-fantastic  gardens  of 
the  author  of  Figaro,*    in   the  Faubourg  St.   Antoine,    and 

*  Among  other  changes,  the  curious  hotel  and  beautiful  gardens  of 
Beaumaichais,  to  which  I  devoted  a  page  in  my  ''  France"  in  1816,have 
now  wholly  disappeared.     Not  aveslige  remains. 


]  68  ioRTONi'g. 

then  back  again.  It  was  in  retracing  our  steps  that  we 
paused  to  make  various  stations,  as  the  splendid  moving  spec- 
tacle  before  us  induced.  We  observed  that  many  of  the 
cheap  spectacles  that  amused  us  so  much  when  we  were  last 
in  France,  had  disappeared.  Even  Bobeche  and  his  friend 
Paillase,  the  movmg  theatre  of  PoHchinelle,  the  religious 
mysteries  dramatized,  and  the  shews  and  temples  of  vulgar 
amusement,  more  fitted  for  the  trctaux  of  the  times  of  the 
house  of  Valois,  than  for  the  present  age,  were  no  longer  to 
be  seen.  The  whole  bourgeoisie  of  Paris,  in  their  Sun- 
day toilet,  were  recreating  on  the  Boulevards.  Friends,  lo- 
vers, and  families  of  many  generations,  were  gathered  round 
bands  of  ambulatory  musicians,  and  listened  to  the  composi- 
tions of  Rossini,  Caraffa,  Pacini,  and  Auber.  Hundreds  and 
thousands  were  seated  on  chairs  and  benches,  in  front  of  the 
countless  and  always  brilliantly  lighted  coffee-houses,  whose 
splendid  mirrors  reflect  back  the  light,  almost  as  refulgent  as 
the  setting  sun,  which  was  throwing  its  last  tints  on  the  tops 
of  the  lofty  trees  above  us.  Many  were  reading  the  jour* 
nals,  either  to  themselves  or  to  their  wives  and  friends ; 
others  were  conversing  with  great  earnestness.  There  was 
over  all  an  air  of  sobriety  (I  had  almost  said  of  gravityj)  but 
still  of  great  social  enjoyment :  nor  was  there  one  instance 
of  the  scandalous  and  brawling  inebriety  that  must  always  at- 
tend a  Pharisaical  observance  of  the  sabbath,  such  as  in  Eng* 
land*  closes  against  the  lower  classes  all  the  means  of  inno- 
cent and  wholesome  amusement.  The  narrow  and  odious 
view  of  the  divine  attributes,  which  leads  to  our  false  and  il- 
liberal  policy  of  interfering  with  men's  private  judgments  in 
matters  of  religion,  and  which  clothes  our  conceptions  of 
duty  with  a  cloud  of  gloom  and  moroseness,  are  not  alone  to 
blame  on  this  point.  Much  as  the  upper  classes  are  given  to  this 
semi-civilized  seriousness,  they  are  still  more  aristocratical  ; 
and  the  legislative  gauging  of  the  pleasures  of  the  people^ 
and  the  hypocritical   cry  of  scandal    at  their  noisy  cheerful- 

*  Tliroughout  Catholic  Europe,  Sunday  evening  is  especially  devot- 
ed to  the  recreation  of  the  lower  and  inborious  orders;  wliose  weekly 
and  arduous  avocations  render  occasional  «^njoyment  of  air  and  exer- 
cise indispensable  to  the  maintenance  of  health  and  spirits.  In  Rome^ 
the  theatres,  whicii  are  always  closed  on  Friday,  are  open  on  Sundays; 
and  the  palaces  of  the  Pope,  with  all  their  precious  and  splendid  mo- 
numents of  the  arts,  are  thrown  open  to  the  inspection  of  the  lower 
classes.  How  often  in  the  Btlindere  at  the  Vatican  has  a  group  of  pea- 
sants from  the  Campagnia  shared  my  attention  with  that  unrivalled  sta- 
tue, before  which  I  have  seen  them  stand  in  mute  wonder  and  in- 
stinctive admiration^ 


TORTONl's.  169 

tiess  aiicl  amusements,  are  more  to  be  attributed  to  a  prevalent 
disdain  of  the  mob,  and  a  total  want  of  sympathy  with  huma- 
nity, (when  placed  without  the  limited  circle  of  hmuton,  and 
of  what  is  called  respectability,)  than  to  zeal  for  religion. 

At  the  moment  while  I  am  cop3ang  this  page  for  the  press, 
a  new  work  has  appeared,  attributed  to  the  Bishop  of  London, 
which  endeavours  to  silence  the  popular  outcry  against  the 
riches  of  the  clergy,  by  a  demonstration  of  earnestness  for 
the  "  holy  observance  of  the  Lord's  day,"  and  by  indirectly 
inciting  the  influential  classes  to  new  crusades  against  the 
Sunday  recreation  and  fresh-air  indulgences  of  the  Londou 
mechanics.  Whoever  may  be  the  author  of  this  pamphlet, 
he  is  woefully  mistaken  in  his  calculation.  If  the  dignified 
and  highly-endowed  beneficiaries  of  the  state  religion  wish 
to  remain  in  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  that  wealth  and  rank 
which  the  gospel  of  Christ,  no  less  than  political  v.isdom  and 
common  moral  sense,  repudiates,  they  must  leave  the  lov/er 
and  middling  classes,  in  their  turn,  in  the  undisturbed  en- 
joyment of  their  humbler  pleasures.  The  age  of  deceptions 
is  fast  passing  away  ;  the  church,  as  by  law  established,  is 
no  longer  confounded  wit]s  the  church  established  by  the  di- 
vine founder  of  Christianity  ;  and  a  selfish  disregard  of  the 
feelings  of  the  people,  and  avidity  for  domination,  will  no 
longer  pass  current  either  fur  piety  or  morals. 

At  the  close  of  our  drive,  we  drew  up  before  Tortoni's, 
and  with  difficulty  procured  a  seat  at  one  of  the  windows  of 
its  front  salon,  where  the  usual  collation  of  ices,  d:c.,  was 
served  to  us,  in  a  style  that  is  only  to  be  found  in  the  "  Capi- 
tale  de  Paris,"  whose  frontiers  are  the  Palais  Royale  and  the 
Chausste  dWntin.  Tortoni's  was  occupied,  not  as  on  the 
week  days,  exclusively  by  the  English,  but  by  groups  of 
3'ouag  men,  conversing  in  small  parties,  with  great  energy 
of  gesticulation,  and  a  sort  of  earnest  muttering,  as  if  what 
they  said  was  not  intended  for  the  public  ear.  Some  took 
ice  or  iced-water,  but  many  took  nothing.  I  remarked  this 
instance  of  sobriety  to  a  young  friend,  who  had  quitted  one 
of  these  knots  to  join  us.     He  replied  : 

"  We  are  all  habitues  here  ;  this  is  our  night  of  rendez- 
omis." 

"  And  who  are  your  we  ?"  I  asked  laughingly. 

"  Nous  autres  jeunes  gens,"  he  replied,  (to  use  the  Ian- 
guage  of  French  stage  directions,)  avec  intention. 

"  And  what  do  you  come  here  for  1" 

"  To  converse  !     Separated  as  we  are,  through  the  week, 

Vol.  L— 15 


170  TOETONl's. 

by  our  respective   studies  or  pursuits,  we  come   together, 
here,  to  learn  each  other's  opinions  and  sentiments  on  all 
sorts  of  subjects,  but  especially  on  pohtics.     Here,  over  our  ' 
ices,  we  planned  our  resis'tance  to  the  attempted  restoration 
of  the  rights  of  primogeniture." 

"  But,"  I  observed,  "  you  are  an  elder  brother?" 

"  That  is  nothing  to  the  purpose  ;  there  is  but  one  opinion 
.among  brothers,  elder  or  younger,  on  this  subject,  except 
among  les  pelits  grandeurs  du  faubourg,  which  represent  the 
old  times  corveables  and  taillables,  and  who  have  little  left  to 
inherit,  except  prejudices  and  opinions,  of  which,  even  they 
are  becoming  ashamed." 

"  When  such  subjects  are  discussed  over  ice,  adieu  to  the 
counter-revolution.  But  what  is  become  of  my  friends  Bo- 
leche  and  Paillasse,  and  the  Cafe  des  Mu^es,  where  one  got 
refreshment  and  a  play  for  half  a  franc  ?" 

"  They  have  disappeared  with  the  police,  which  was  their 
especial  manager,  as  it  was  the  supreme  director  of  all  such 
amusements.  The  Boheches  and  Paillasses  were  but  the 
lingering  fragments  of  the  policy  de  circonstance  of  Napole- 
on, adopted  by  the  Bourbons  in  the  first  instance,  as  smack- 
ing of  their  own  order  of  things,  but  since  abohshed  by  the 
influence  of  the  charte.  The  people  now  amuse  themselves; 
they  are  grown  more  sociable,  and  less  dissipated,  and  they 
prefer  the  positive  gratification  of  the  senses  and  the  mind 
to  any  mere  delusions  got  up  to  distract  tiiem.  They  are 
fonder  of  music  than  ever,  and  listen  to  none  but  the  best. 
But  it  is  the  cheapness  of  books  and  newspapers  that  chiefly 
supplies  the  place  of  the  Bobeches." 

We  remarked  that  there  were  fewer  women,  too,  at  Tor- 
toni's,  than  we  had  been  formerly  accustomed  to  see. 

"  No  women  of  fashion,"  he  said,  "  now  go  to  the  cafes 
but  the  English,  who  frequent  them  more  than  ever." 

"  But  when  I  was  last  in  Paris,  I  assure  you " 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  century  back,"  he  said,  laughing ;  "  but, 
even  then,  if  French  women  went  to  such  places,  it  was  only 
a  remnant  of  our  revolutionary  manners.  Now,  no  woman, 
comme  il  faut,  would  compromise  herself,  by  entering  an 
arena  open  to  all  classes  and  sorts  of  persons.  They  draw 
up  their  equipages  at  the  door  of  Tortoni's,  on  their  return 
from  the  opera  or  les  Bouffes,  or  in  the  intervals  of  their  as- 
semblies,  at  this  late  season  ;  they  do  not  come  in,  you  see  :" 
nnd  he  pointed  to  the  equipage  of  the  accomplished  Madame 
JH ,  (the  Pasta  of  amateurs,)  which  had  just  arrived,  and 


PUBLIC  OPIMON  IN  1829.  171 

■viras  attended  by  the  garcons,  with  silver  plates  piled  with  ices 
and  sweetmeats. 

"  With  us  young  men  of  fashion,  or  no  fashion,"  he  con- 
tiued,  "  it  is  different  ;  whatever  belongs  to  the  life  of  our 
class,  to  the  world,  its  interests,  and  its  pleasures,  all  comes 
within  the  competence  of  this  our  ti'ibunal.  But  where  are 
you  going  this  evening  ?" 

"  To  Monsieur  de  Tracy's.     Can  I  take  you  there  ?" 

"The  ladies  of  the  family  will  not  be  returned  from  their 

promenade  yet,  it  is  too  early.     Have  you  no  visits  to  pay  '/" 

"  Oh,  I  have  always  visits  to  pay  ;  I  want  to  leave  cards 

on  Madame  Montgoifier,  of  air-balloon   celebrity,*   and  to 

call  in  the  Rue  de  Seine." 

"  You  want  to  visit  les  bords  uUrapontains,  then  ?" 
"  Exactly  ;  will  you  go  with  us  ?"  "  De  tout  mon  cceur," 
was  the  reply,  and  so  we  stepped  into  the  carriage,  and 
drove  accordingly  au-delu  la  Seine.  What  a  different  region 
presented  itself,  sombre,  sober,  and  tranquil !  It  was  another 
city,  inhabited  by  another  people  ;  the  old  concurges  seated 
in  front  of  their  portcs  cocheros,  carrying  on  their  chat  from 
house  to  house  ;  all  else  silent  and  solemn.  Every  body  was 
abroad  ;  so  we  dropped  our  cards  and  returned  in  time  for 
the  Count  de  Tracy's. 


PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829. 

S/>'CE  the  year  1816,  when  we  first  visited  France,  a  new 
generation  has  come  into  action  ;  and  a  new  train  of  feelings 
and  interests  has  been  brought  to  bear  upon  public  affairs. 
la  the  year  ISIG,  a  sweeping  revolution  had  just  been  effect- 
ed, which  had  dislocated  all  the  influential  classes  of  society, 
and  thwarted  their  most  confirmed  prejudices-  A  series  of 
calamities,  not  less  moriifying  than  destructive,  had  fallen  on 
the  nation.  Its  soil  bad  been  occupied  by  foreign  armies  ; 
murderous  and  ravaging  campaign  had  been  fought  within  its 
territory.  The  sovereigns  of  Europe  had  assembled  i«n  its 
capital,  to  dictate  a  government,  and  to  reimpose  a  twice  re- 
jected dynasty.     The   imperial  rigime,  which  a  few  years' 

*  The  amiable  widow  of  the  far  famed  aeronaut. 


1T2  PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829. 

duration  had  surrounded  with  congenial  interests  and  affee- 
tions,  had  heen  overthrown.  The  emigrant  noblesse  had  re- 
turned in  triumph,  importing  with  them  exploded  doctrines 
and  forgotten  watchwords.  Public  opinion  was  broken  up, 
and  questions  in  morals  and  government,  long  set  at  rest^ 
were  again  brought  into  angry  discussion.  The  nation, 
maddened  by  the  past,  discontented  with  the  present,  and  de- 
spairing of  the  future,  lived  only  in  the  prospect  of  some 
impending  catastrophe,  that  might  dissipate  the  night-mare 
dream,  in  which  they  were  plunged,  and  relieve  them  from  a 
condition  alike  unintelligible  and  intolerable.  Fragments  of 
the  many  factions,  which  the  revolution  had  produced — libe- 
rals, republicans,  jacobins,  royalists,  and  Napoleonites,  float- 
ed on  the  surface  of  society,  and  strove  to  give  their  own 
direction  to  the  future  government  ;  but  the  living  mass,  in- 
stinctively conscious  that  their  best  interests  were  endangered,, 
yet  ignorant  of  the  means  of  escape,  struggled  in  a  state  of  un- 
directed agitation  ;  and  waited  with  impatience  for  an  impulse^ 
from  the  comtng-on  of  events.  That  impulse  events  soon, 
afforded.  The  Bourbons,  though  deriving  their  throne 
"  from  the  prince  regent  of  England,"  and  backed  by  nearly 
a  million  of  foreign  bayonets,  found  themselves  too  weak  to 
re-establish  the  despotism  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  in  all  its 
purity  and  wholeness  ;  and  perceived  that  large  concessions- 
were  necessary  to  reconcile  P'ranee  to  its  novel  situation. 
The  dominion,  which  Napoleon  had  obtained,  was  no  example 
for  them  to  rely  upon.  Force  and  a  strong  hand  may  answer 
for  an  usurper  ;  but  manag^ement  and  fraud  are  the  proper  in- 
struments of  legitimate  despotism.  The  love  of  libertVj 
though  controlled  by  an  urgent  necessity  for  reconstituting  a 
nation  sunk  into  anarchy,  and  afterwards  superseded  for  a 
while  by  the  pursuit  of  military  glory,  was  not  extinct.  The 
people  had  gained  too  much  by  the  revolution,  and  had  paid 
too  dearly  for  the  purchase,  to  abandon  lightly  the  resuhs  it 
had  achieved.  The  traditions  of  its  brightest  days  still  lived 
in  the  public  memory  ;  and  the  moment  that  power  began  to 
slip  from  the  grasp  of  Napoleon,  they  were  invoked  as  guide* 
by  the  legislature  and  the  nation.  Thirteen  years,  it  is  true, 
of  a  brilliant  and  popular  despotism  had  withdrawn  the  people 
from  the  study  of  the  philosophy  of  social  rights.  The 
theory  of  constitutional  freedom  had  been  stigmatized  as 
ideology  ;*  but  though  men   had  ceased  to  reason,  they  still 

•  This  term  of  vituperation  reminds  one  of  Falstaff's  calling  Mr*. 
Qttiokl^,  reproachfully,  "  a  thing  to  thank  God  of." 


PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829.  173 

felt;  and  with  all  the  ardour  and  recklessness  of  their  mili- 
tary education,  they  were  ready  to  embark  into  any  enter- 
prize  that  might  restore  their  independence,  and  by  dismiss- 
ing the  Bourbons,  revenge  the  insult  inflicted  on  the  national 
flag. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  grant  of  a  charter  was 
adopted  as  a  necessary  expedient  by  the  king,  and  sanctioned 
by  his  allies.  The  forms  of  a  popular  government,  however 
odious  to  the  banded  congress,  and  distasteful  to  the  restored 
family,  were  found  necessary  to  console  France  for  its  de- 
feats, to  reconcile  it  to  the  foreign  imposition  of  the  reigning 
dynasty,  and  above  all,  to  afford  a  debatable  subject,  which 
would  occupy  the  stirring  spirit  of  the  times,  without  bring- 
ing the  king  and  the  people  into  too  close  collision. 

As  a  measure  of  wisdom  and  justice,  this  policy  would 
have  been  excellent  ;  but,  as  the  expedient  of  a  Machiave- 
lian  cunning,  it  was  delusive.  To  have  established  a  free 
constitution,  guaranteeing  all  the  just  rights  of  the  people, 
and  to  have  administered  it  with  fairness  and  good  faith, 
would  have  brought  the  revolution  to  its  close,  would  have  re- 
conciled the  nation  to  its  sovereigns,  would  have  satisfied 
France,  and  tranquillized  Europe. 

•  But  to  grant  a  national  compact,  for  the  purpose  of  its  im- 
mediate violation,  to  "  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  the  ear, 
and  break  it  to  the  sense,"  was  at  once  to  rekindle  all  the 
angry  passions,  and  to  put  them  into  possession  of  the  only 
arms  which  experience  has  proved  to  be  irresistible.  The 
forms  of  a  popular  government  cannot  be  observed,  without 
the  tolerance  of  such  open  channels  for  the  emission  of  in- 
dividual sentiment,  as  must  hasten  political  education.  A 
force  of  public  opinion  is  thus  developed,  which  sets  all 
other  power  at  defiance.  In  these  forms,  too,  the  people 
find  a  strong  entrenchment  ;  while  to  the  despot  they  are  em- 
barrassing obstacles  ;  and  he  cannot  stir  a  step  to  extend  his 
power,  or  to  punish  the  sturdy  opponent  of  his  will,  without 
crushing  them  to  the  earth.  The  granting  a  charter  was 
therefore  a  virtual  surrender  of  arbitrary  power  ;  and  any 
mental  reservation  of  the  sovereign  could  only  tend  to  place 
the  throne  between  the  dangers  of  revolution,  or  the  morti- 
fication of  defeat.* 

•  From  the  starting  post,  the  freedom  of  the  press  was  attacked,  aj 
inconipatiblfi  with  the  interests  of  despotism.  It  was  crippled  by  tha 
complaisant  legislatuie,.  slandered  liy  the  law  officers  of  the  crowo,  ana- 

15* 


174  PUBtlC  OPINION  IN  1829. 

From  the  moment,  accordingly,  in  which  the  charter  Was 
granted,  a  new  spirit  was  infused  into  the  public.  The  free- 
dom of  the  press,  however  clogged  and  limited,  was  suffi- 
cient to  admit  the  development  of  sound  political  doctrines  : 
and  the  discussions  of  the  chambers  gave  a  practical  value 
to  them,  that  interested  all  classes  in  their  study,  and  brought 
all  the  genius  of  the  land  to  bear  upon  the  problem  of  con- 
stitutional forces.  The  doctrines  of  1789  were  boldly  ad- 
vanced, and  opposition  took  the  place  of  conspiracy.  The 
re-appearance  on  the  scene  of  some  of  the  best  members  of 
the  national  and  constituent  assembles,  the  Lafayettes,  the 
Lanjuinais,  d:;c.  &;c.  &c.  whom  time  and  the  revolutionary 
hatchet  had  spared,  rekindled  the  spirit  and  the  intelligence 
of  the  people,  and  brought  them  back  to  the  path,  from  which 
they  had  been  so  fatally  forced,  by  the  insane  conspirators 
of  Pilnitz. 

Respectable  alike  for  their  years,  their  undeviating  probi- 
ty, and  their  intrepidity,  these  veteran  patriots  rallied  round 
their  person  the  rising  generation,  which,  released  from  the 
yoke  of  military  discipline,  plunged  into  study,  with  all  the 
eagerness  of  novelty,  and  all  the  ardour  of  ambition. 
Under  their  guidance,  the  young  men  gradually  formed 
themselves  to  the  habits  of  reflection  and  action,  necessa- 
ry to  a  constitutional  citizen.  The  rough  manners  and 
impulsive  energies  of  the  children  of  the  empire  were 
exchanged  for  a  compassed  gravity,  and  a  calculated  con- 
duct.  The  habit  of  military  obedience  was  superseded 
by  a  spirit  of  philosophic  inquir}''.  Literature,  in  all  its 
branches,  entered  into  the  .domain  of  politics,  and  was 
made  subservient  to  the  dissemination  of  sound  ideas,  and 
free  principles  of  government.  The  machinery  of  the  new 
constitution  was  analysed,  its  forces  were  estimated,  and 
clubs  and  coteries  were  eventually  formed  for  the  purpose  of 
wielding  them  with  efficacy.  The  spirit  of  liberty,  former- 
ly concentrated  on  the  capital,  now  began  to  spread  through 
all  France  :  and  as  men  conceived  with  intelligence,  so  they 
learned  to  act  with  promptitude  and  uniformity. 

A  more  weak  and  impossible  combination  than  that  of  rul- 
ing despotically  by  means  of  a  charter,  could  not  be  conceiv- 
ed ;  and  every  day  that  elapses  serves  only  to  prove  the  ab- 

thematized  by  the  clergy,  and  denounced  by  the  missionaries  ;  but 
public  opinion,  snpporled  by  the  minority  in  the  chambers,  was  too 
much  forlhis  com'jiiiii!ii)n  of  enemies;  tiie  censorship  was  abolished  ; 
aiul  the  very  judges  appointed  by  the  king  interfered,  to  protect  the  ac- 
f.used  from  tiie  malice  of  llic  govcrumont. 


l?tJBLic  oriNioM  IN  1 820.  175 

surdity  of  the  attempt.  That  Louis  XVIII.  was,  to  a  certaia 
extent,  sincere  in  his  grant  of  public  liberties,  is  more  than 
probable.  He  had  too  much  ability  not  to  have  seen  the 
dangers  and  difficulties  of  an  illiberal  course  of  policy  ;  and 
his  years  and  his  vohiptunus  epicurism,  must  alike  have  urg- 
ed him  to  avoid  them.  He  hud  personally  experienced  too 
severely  the  miseries  of  exile,  not  to  feel  how  desperate 
was  the  gambling  that  would  staK:e  the  throne  against  prero- 
gatives that  are  useless  for  all  h  jnest  purposes. 

Not  so  the  emigrants.  The  events  which  had  restored  to 
the  king  his  sceptre,  had  done  Utile  for  them.  The  restoration 
had  not  put  them  in  possession  of  their  forfeited  estates,  nor 
givem  them  a  privileged  share  in  the  management  of  affairs. 
In  returning  to  France,  tiiey  were  not  placed  at  their  ease, 
nor  reconciled  to  the  chano-es  effected  during  their  absence. 
Their  poverty  contrasted  painfully  with  the  wealth  of  the  re- 
volutionary upstarts;  .and  their  family  consequence  was 
mortified  by  the  concurrence  of  the  new  nobility.  With  this 
mass  of  discontent,  they  brought  a  no  less  portentous  igno- 
rance of  the  temper  of  the  times,  and  of  the  people  with 
whom  they  had  to  deal.  Feeble  in  numbers,  but  confident 
in  their  rank  and  their  influence,  they  mistook  the  suggestions 
of  vanity  for  the  dictates  of  reason.  Proud  of  the  imagina- 
ry  superiority  of  their  conventional  refinement,  they  conceiv- 
ed  that  their  good  taste  gave  them  a  right  to  political  supre- 
macy ;  and  while  it  separated  them  from  all  intercourse 
with  the  body  of  the  nation,  it  "prevented  them  from  bocom- 
ing  acquainted  with  its  wants,  its  d(!sires,  its  intelligence,  or 
its  means  of  resistance  to  oppression.  To  this  class  in  so- 
ciety the  concession  of  the  charter  appeared  a  derogation 
from  royal  dignity,  an  odious  abandonment  of  principle  ;  and, 
above  everything,  a  stumbling-block  in  their  own  way  to  the 
recovery  of  their  antiquated  privileges.  Before  the  ink  was 
dry,  with  which  the  instrument  was  signed,  it  became  the  ob- 
ject of  their  open  ridicule  and  their  secret  hostihty  ;  and  all 
the  energy  of  their  intrigue  was  at  once  put  forth  to  lead  or 
drive  the  king  to  annul  or  to  elude  its  most  important  enact- 
ments.* 

The  revolution,  which  has  usually  been  seen  as  an  attack 
upon   monarchy,  was  in  reality  as   much  an  insurrection 


*  "  Dcs  le  premier  jour  de  la  mise  en  execution  du  nouveau  pact,  il  y 
eut  des  vermes  trop  visiblus  de  defiance,  et  de  division." — B.  da  Con- 
tt«nt.    Let  Cent  Jours. 


176  PUBLIC  OPINION  IN    1829. 

against  the  feudal  aristocracy.  The  privileged  classes, 
though  their  political  consequence  was  extinguished  by  Lou- 
is XIV.,  remained  in  possession  of  all  that  portion  of  their 
power,  which  was  felt  only  hy  the  people  ;  and  to  preserve 
this  power,  they,  from  the  very  beginning,  had  placed  them- 
selves between  the  king  and  the  nation,  to  avert  those  peace- 
able reforms  which  would  have  rendered  a  revolution  un- 
necessary and  uncalled  for.  It  was  for  the  sake  of  their  pri- 
vileges, and  not  for  any  real  benefit  to  monarchy,  that  the 
court  was  precipitated  into  measures  Mhich  eventually  brought 
the  royal  family  to  the  scaffold.  It  was  this  faction  that 
struggled  against  Louis  XVI.  ;  that  overturned  Turgot,  Ma- 
lesherbes,  Neckei",  and  all  the  ministers,  who  had  either  the 
benevolence  to  desire  ameliorations,  or  the  wisdom  to  foresee 
their  necessity.  In  such  statesmen  monarchical  power  had 
no  losses  to  fear  :  or  at  worst  it  was  but  the  loss  of  a  mere 
abstract  right,  whose  exercise  was  hourly  becoming  less  and 
less  politic  or  desirable.  But  the  nobility  and  the  church  had 
much  to  part  with.  Feudal  privileges,  exemptions  from  taxa- 
tion, leiires  de  cachet,  and  a  thousand  arbitrary  abuses,  were 
all  at  stake  ;  and  of  these,  if  the  nobility  were  sometimes 
themselves  the  victims,  they  were  habitually  the  solicitors 
and  gainers.  1'he  feudal  aristocracy  and  the  people  of 
France,  from  the  beginning  of  the  monarchy,  were,  in  truth, 
two  nations  ; — and  they  were,  in  1789,  as  different  in  their 
sympathies  and  affections,  as  at  the  first  moment'  of  the  in- 
vasion of  the  Franks.  This  division  was  manifested  at  the 
breaking  out  of  the  revolution,  in  the  almost  universal  emi- 
gration of  the  nobility,  and  their  alliance  with  foreigners 
against  the  cbildren  of  the  soil  ; — events  which  prove  to  de- 
monstration that  the  feudal  families  were  rather  encamped, 
than  domiciliated  in  the  land. 

Among  the  people,  aristocracy  was  never  popular.  It  has 
been  a  favourite  misrepresentation  in  novels  and  romances, 
to  paint  the  seigneur  de  village  of  old  times  as  living  on  most 
patriarchal  terms  with  his  serfs,  a  model  of  goodnesjs,  and  a 
type  of  paternity  ;  but  where  the  power  to  do  evil  exists, 
experience  too  amply  proves  that  human  nature  is  not  slow 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  Instances,  undoubtedly,  there  must 
have  been,  in  which  personal  benevolence  counteracted  the 
evils  of  institutions,  and  where  gratitude  was  proportioned  to 
the  magnitude  and  rarity  of  the  benefits  conferred.  But 
such  exceptions  are  of  no  value  in  a  general  estimate  of  na- 
tional opinion.   Allowing,  to  the  utmost,  for  the  kindliness  of 


PUBLIC  OPINION  IN   1829.  1T7 

the  French  temperament,  and  for  that  friendly,  and  even 
familiar  intercourse  with  dependants,  which  a  well-defined  and 
undisputed  superiority  can  afford  to  exhibit,  such  condescen- 
sion would  win  but  little  affection,  when  unaccompanied  by 
substantial  justice,  and  the  interest  of  esteem.  The  greater 
proprietors  were  usually,  indeed,  absentees  from  their  es- 
tates, and  were  known  to  their  tenants  chiefly  by  pressing  de- 
mands for  money  ;  while  the  petit,  provincial  noblesse  were 
more  infatuated  with  the  honours  and  privileges  of  feudality, 
than  the  grand  seigneurs  of  the  capital.  At  best,  the  protec 
tion  they  might  now  and  then  bestow  on  their  immediate  and 
personal  dependants,  was  that  of  confident  superiority  to  ut- 
ter helplessness,  and  their  very  courtesy  was  founded  in  dis- 
dain. The  portrait  of  national  feelings,  exhibited  in  the 
"  Figaro"  of  Beauniarchais,  accords  with  the  known  antece- 
dents, and  may  be  relied  upon  as  faithful  and  correct.  It  is 
not,  however,  amongst  the  class  of  mere  peasants  that  pub- 
lic opinion  is  formed  ;  it  was  in  the  towns,  and  amongst  the 
professional  classes,  and  the  men  of  chattel  property,  that 
the  hatred  of  feudality  was  propagated,  by  the  insolence 
and  oppression  of  the  noblesse.  In  that  quarter  there  was  a 
manifest  collision  of  vanities  and  interests,  that  could  not 
fail  to  nourish  sentiments  of  hatred  and  distrust  between  the 
parties  so  opposed.  On  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolution, 
dislike  to  aristocracy  became  the  ruling  principle  of  French- 
men, and  has  predominated  through  all  the  subsequent 
changes  of  government.  A  love  of  equality  is,  as  it  were, 
burnt  into  the  national  character  ;  and  all  the  efforts  of  Na- 
poleon to  revive  a  taste  for  personal  distinctions,  could  not 
reconcile  the  people  to  a  privileged  nobility. 

On  these  sentiments,  the  sale  of  the  forfeited  estates,  and 
the  law  which  regulates  the  descent  of  property,  have  super- 
induced a  pecuniary  interest.  The  revival  of  tithes,  and  the 
restoration  of  forfeitures,  are  the  true  and  real  sources  of 
contention — the  body  of  Patroclus,  around  which  the  several 
parties  are  actually  contending.*  They  are  the  ends  of  all 
the  intrigues  of  the  faubourg,  and  the  motives  of  all  the  stur- 
diness  manifested  by  the  people,  and  the  jealousy  of  tiltra 
administrations.  English  travellers,  who  are  but  superficial 
observers  of  the  political  scene  which  France  lays  open  to 
them,  and  who  are  apt  to  take  up  the  second-hand  opinions 

*  The  indemnifications  granted  by  the  chambers  are  accepted  as  part 
payment,  but  with  a  tacit  reserve  of  the  right  to  scramble  for  what 
paore  can  be  got  hereafter, 


178  PUBLIC  OPINION  IN    1829. 

of  the  emigrant  salons,   to  which  they  chiefly  have  accesi3, 
are    constantly    asking,    "  what  the    French   would    have  ?" 
They  comment  on  the  plenty  and  tranquillity  hy  which   the 
people  are  surrounded  ;  they  note   that  the  courts  of  justice 
are  tolerably  well  administered  ;  that  the  property  of  indivi 
duals  is    respected   in   Paris  ;  that  coffee-houses   are  open 
theatres  crowded,  and  the  public  walks  resounding  with  mu 
sic  and  dancing;  and  if  they  happen  to  be  high-born,  and  in 
clined  to  Tory  politics,  they  are  vehement  against  the  press 
and  against  the  liberal  agitators,  for  their  hostility  to  so  mild 
and  amiable  (!)  a  government. 

The  people  of  France  desire,  and  justly  and  reasonably  de- 
sire, a  sufficient  guarantee  for  their  rights  against  the  inva- 
sion of  ultra  pretensions.  Fourteen  millions  of  purchasers 
of  national  domains  require  to  have  their  destinies  assured, 
and  twenty-eight  millions  of  Frenchmen  demand  to  be  re- 
lieved for  ever  from  the  claims  of  the  church  to  tithe,  and 
from  the  petty  tyranny  of  priests  and  missionaries,  who, 
thirsting  after  the  old  ecclesiastical  abuses,  seek  to  restore 
them  through  "the  prostration  of  the  public  mind. 

It  is  the  uneasiness  thus  excited,  which  alone  prevents 
France  from  accepting  with  joy  a  constitution  which,  however 
theoretically  imperfect,  has,  during  fourteen  years,  conferred 
on  the  people  a  comparative  tranquillity,  and  admitted  a 
greater  development  of  industrial  power,  than  was  before 
known  within  the  memory  of  the  existing  generation.  Could 
the  Bourbons  have  consented  to  join  frankly  with  the  nation, 
in  passing  such  laws  as  would  have  for  ever  disarmed  the 
emigration,  their  own  sway  might  perhaps  have  been  as  arbi- 
trary as  they  could  desire.  For,  jealous  and  touchy  as  the 
great  mass  of  Frenchmen  are  at  the  approach  of  political  in- 
equality, they  had  been  long  accustomed  to  the  prefectorial 
government  of  Napoleon,  and  they  might  have  been  slow  to 
stickle  for  the  details  of  civil  liberty,  if  their  importance  had 
not  been  impressed  on  all  by  the  false  direction  which  the 
government  has  taken. 

Unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  royalty  in  France,  it  has 
overlooked  this  ilem  of  public  opinion  ;  and,  misled  by  the 
long. prevalent  sophism,  that  a  powerful  aristocracy  is  a  ne- 
cessary support  to  the  crown,  it  has,  from  the  moment  of  the 
restoration,  more  or  less,  made  common  cause  with  the  no- 
blesse. 

In  the  existing  state  of  feeling  and  property,  and  with  the 
rapid  development  of  commercial  industry,  the  revival  of 


PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829.  179 

feudality  is  impossible.  All  the  substantial  force  is  with  the 
people,  and  the  court,  in  leaning  upon  the  emigrants,  allies 
itself  to  a  power  which  may  overturn  the  throne,  but  cannot 
be  made  an  effectual  instrument  of  arbitrary  sway.*  There 
is  a  small  party  among  the  richer  classes,  and  among  the 
speculative  politicians,  who,  deceived  by  the  example  of  Eng- 
land, imagine  that  an  aristocracy  may  be  gradually  built  up, 
which  would  satisfy  the  old  noblesse,  strengthen  the  king,  and 
form  a  barrier  against  the  excesses  of  popular  violence. 
Were  there  no  other  reason  for  doubling  the  applicability  of 
this  proposal,  it  would  be  a  sufficient  objection  that  circum- 
stance, and  not  human  will,  can  alone  create  the  several  or- 
ders in  society,  and  determine  their  relative  value.  In  the 
political  world,  as  in  the  natural,  the  creative  forces  are  not 
to  bo  superseded  by  an  absolute  volition,  nor  can  any  law 
prevail  against  the  influence  of  opinion  and  of  things.  Be- 
tvveen  France  and  England,  in  this  particular,  no  political 
analogy  can  hold.  France  is  essentially  democratic  in  its 
feelings  and  in  the  existing  division  of  its  soil,  as  England  is 
essentially  aristocratic.  In  England  the  law  of  primogeni- 
ture, which  from  its  long  duration  is  taken  almost  for  a  laAV 
of  nature,  has  invested  the  landed  aristocracy  with  an  im- 
mense force,  concentrated  in  a  few  hands  ;  and  this  force  has 
been  employed  with  ability,  to  obtain  for  its  possessors  a  po- 
litical influence  still  more  formidable.  For  a  long  scries  of 
years,  all  laws  have  been  made  with  reference  to  this  inter- 
est ;  and  all  the  customs  and  habits  of  society  have  moulded 
themselves  to  its  supremacy.  To  argue  from  what  is  effect- 
ed in  England,  through  such  an  agency,  to  what  may  be 
hoped  from  it  in  France,  where  the  properties  are  small,  and 
the  law  of  primogeniture  is  abhorred,  is  a  gross  and  palpable 
error.  In  the  premises,  there  is  not  merely  no  similarity, 
but  an  absolute  contrast  and  contradiction.  Even  the  char- 
ter itself,  impregnated  as  it  is  with  the  ideas  and  pretensions 
of  the  old  regime,  is  less  exclusive  and  aristocratic  in  its  dis- 
positions, than  the  British  constitution,  as  it  exists  in  practice. 

*  "  Avec  notre  disposition  nationale,  notre  amour  pour  I'egalite  pres- 
«jue  absolue,  la  division  de  nos  proprietes,  leur  mobilite  perpetuelle, 
Tinfluence  toujours  croissante  du  commerce,  de  I'industrie,  et  des  capi- 
taux  en  portefeuille,  devenns  des  elemens  au  moins  aussi  necessaires  a 
Pordre  social  actual,  et  sflrement  des  a{)puis  plus  itidispensables  am 
gouverneraens,  que  la  propricte  fonciere  elle-meme ;  une  puissance 
n6reditaire,  qui  ne  represente  que  le  sol,  qui  repose  sur  la  concentra- 
tion du  territoire  dans  les  mains  d'un  petit  nombre  a  quelque  chose  qui 
«tt  coatre  nature." — Di  CQnstanl. 


180  prBLic  OPINION  IN  1829. 

The  French  nation,  allied  with  the  United  States,  and  the 
witness  and  participator  of  their  triumphs,  naturally  adopted 
American  ideas,  and  borrowed  American  institutions,  in  their 
own  attempts  to  constitute  a  free  government.  Whatever 
of  good  and  popular  remains  in  the  charle,  is  derived  from 
these  sources,  and  is  therefore,  like  its  primitive  type,  repub- 
lican.  T\\e  juges  de  paix,  ioY  example,  were  originally  ap- 
pointed by  popular  election,  and  though  they  have  subsequent- 
ly become  the  nommees  of  the  government,  they  still  are  ta- 
ken from  the  bosom  of  the  people  ;  and  as  they  are  exempt 
from  the  prejudices,  leanings,  and  sympathies,  which  influ- 
ence the  haughty  confederacy  of  the  English  "  unpaid,"  so 
they  ai'e  better  distributors  of  justice,  and  are  less  decided 
and  uncompromising  props  of  arbitrarj^  government. 

Again,  the  elective  body,  notwithstanding  its  frequent  epu- 
rations,  is  infinitely  less  aristocratic  than  the  san\e  class  in 
England.  By  restricting  the  franchise  to  such  citizens  as 
pay,  at  least,  three  hundred  francs  of  direct  taxes,  the  total 
number  of  electors,  for  all  France,  has  been  reduced  below 
an  hundred  thousand.  But  lo  add  to  the  weight  of  property, 
one  quarter  of  these,  who  pay  the  highest  taxes,  have  the 
right  to  vote  a  second  time,  in  what  are  called  the  deparment- 
al  colleges ;  and  thus  the  richer  classes  exert  a  preponder- 
ant influence  over  the  general  returns.  Yet,  such  is  the 
salutary  effect  of  the  division  of  property  on  politics,  that 
even  this  fourth  of  the  richest  citizens  is  not  separated  from 
the  body  of  the  nation,  nor  corrupted  by  aristocratic  preten- 
sions ;  and  France,  with  a  number  of  electors  less  than 
those  of  an  Irish  province,  has  witnessed  a  chamber  which 
influence  could  not  persuade,  nor  bribery  purchase. 

In  the  communal  and  departmental  municipalities,  (not- 
withstanding all  that  Napoleon  and  the  cJiarte  have  done  to 
root  out  of  them  the  democratic  principle,)  the  popular  in- 
fluence is  belter  felt  than  in  our  grand  juries,  select  vestries, 
and  parochial  commissions,  which,  in  practice,  are  almost 
uniformly  exclusive,  aristocratic,  and  jobbing  ;  and  the  actual 
state  of  the  law  courts  of  France  affords  a  still  more  decisive 
proof  of  the  prevalence  of  constitutional  feelings,  and  of  a 
consequently  higher  tone  of  political  honesty,  than  is  to  be 
found  among  the  people  of  England.  The  comparison  be- 
tween the  maxims  which  govern  the  tribunals  of  France  and 
England  in  matter  of  libel,  is  infinitely  in  favour  of  the 
former  ;  and  the  sentences  are  milder  in  the  proportion  near- 
ly of  months  to  years,  and  of  francs  to  pounds  sterling.    The 


PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829.  181 

absurd  plea  of  bringing  the  government  into  contempt,  is 
acted  upon  in  both  countries  ;  but,  in  France,  the  noble  in- 
dependence  of  the  judges,  and  the  stern  severity  with  which 
they  motive  their  sentences,  keep  the  public  prosecutor  in 
check  ;  for  often,  even  in  convicting  the  libeller,  they  read  an 
useful  lesson  to  the  powers  that  be,  and  teach  them  to  respect 
the  freedom  of  opinions. 

Not  only  in  France,  but  throughout  all  Europe,  the  feudal 
principle  has  fallen  into  general  disgrace.  The  spread  of 
education  has  elevated  man  to  a  due  sense  of  his  personal 
value,  and  has  given  currency  to  the  idea  that  land  is  for  his 
use,  and  not  he  for  the  use  of  the  land  :  the  spread  of  Com- 
merce has  also  brought  into  existence  an  aristocracy,  at  once 
more  beneficial  to  the  state,  and  more  popular  in  its  feelings, 
to  compete  with  the  landed  interest,  and  to  limit  its  suprema- 
cy. In  England  itself,  aristocracy  has,  perhaps,  past  its 
zenith,  and  is  already  hastening  towards  its  decline,  through 
the  gross  and  selfish  abuse  that  has  been  made  of  its  usurped 
powers,  and  the  too  open  collision  between  privilege  and 
popular  interests.  The  restored  dynasty  of  France,  there- 
fore, in  allying  itself  so  closely  with  the  emigrants,  has  acted 
in  ignorance  of  the  spirit  of  the  age  and  nation,  and  has  pre- 
pared  for  itself  a  long  series  of  disquietudes,  if  not  an  early 
fall.  Habit  and  opinion  are  too  powerful  for  law  to  wrestle 
with  ;  and  no  system  of  majorats  or  of  privileges  could  invest 
a  French  House  of  Peers  with  the  credit  which  that  order 
has  obtained  in  England.  At  present,  the  Upper  Chamber 
has  little  about  it  of  aristocracy  but  the  title  ;  its  proceedings, 
indeed,  pass  with  closed  doors  ;  and  large  drafts  of  the 
partisans  of  successive  ministries  have  increased  its  mem- 
bers with  men  not  overburthened  with  patriotism  ;  yet  the 
body  is  anything  but  subservient  to  authority  ;  nor  could  the 
crown,  with  safety,  rely  upon  its  docility  to  sanction  a  coup 
d'^taif  or  to  recommend  it  td  the  people  ;  much  less  would 
the  Frenchmen  of  the  present  day,  tolerate  a  privileged 
body,  whose  pretensions  should  be  amalgamated  with  the 
overthrow  of  all  chartered  rights,  and  whose  influence  on 
public  affairs  would  be  a  permanent  conspiracy  against  every 
liberal  idea,  and  every  honest  system  of  administration. 

But,  as  if  the  unpopularity  of  the  emigrant  party  was  not 
in  itself  sufficient,  the  court  has  added  to  the  obloquy,  by 
nfiaking  common  cause  with  the  church.  The  ecclesiastical 
establishment  in  France  is  completely  worn  out,  as  an  instru- 
ment  for   binding  the   conscience,   and  directing  the  will. 

Vol.  I.—16 


182  PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829. 

How  far  the  clergy,  by  an  abandonment  of  their  claims  to 
ancient  abuse,  by  the  adoption  of  liberal  politics,  and  by  a 
judicious  forbearance  upon  offensive  or  exploded  points  of 
discipline,  could  have  succeeded  in  winning  back  the  nation 
to  any  trinitarian  form  of  worship,  is  sufficiently  problemati- 
cal ;*  but  it  is  abundantly  clear,  that  the  course  they  have 
taken  in  attacking  at  once  the  purses,  tiie  consciences,  and 
the  comforts  of  their  flocks,  has  heaped  on  their  head  the 
contempt  of  increduUty  and  the  hatred  of  insulted  self-love. 
They  are  laughed  at  as  priests,  and  detested  as  ultras. 

Any  utility  which  the  old  noblesse  could  have  obtained  by 
alliance  with  the  clergy  must  have  depended  on  public  opin- 
ion ;  but  public  opinion  was  decidedly  against  the  ecclesias^ 
tical  establishment,  such  as  they  sought  to  make  it.  In  the 
blindness,  however,  of  their  zeal,  they  imagtned  that  their 
own  will  to  deceive  and  to  govern,  would  be  met  by  a  cor- 
responding disposition  in  the  people  to  be  duped  and  mas- 
tered. Tne  ultras  thought  that  nothing  more  was  necessary 
than  to  send  forth  an  army  of  able-bodied  missionaries,  with 
crucifixes  as  large  as  a  main  mast,  stentorian  preachers,  and 
insinuating  intriguants  ;  and  to  direct  the  pr&fets  and  maires 
to  set  an  example  of  obedience,  in  order  that  straightway 
all  France  would  bow  its  knee  to  these  apostles,  and  take  back 
every  abuse  of  the  old  regime,  for  the  love  of  heaven.  Thia 
might  do  for  the  Belgian  provinces,  where  a  child's  doll  will 
excite  as  much  devotional  awe  as  the  Jupiter  of  Phidias  ; 
but  in  France,  and  in  the  nineteenth  century  !  to  hope  any 
thing  from  such  coarse  and  palpable  priestcraft,  was  the  most 
mistaking  of  calculations.  In  matters  of  religion,  the  sub- 
lime is  in  the  closest  juxtaposition  with  the  ridiculous  ;  and 
the  French  are  essentially  a  mocking  people.  In  the  remoter 
provinces,  the  male  population,  more  directly  menaced  in 
their  fortunes,  thwarted  in  their  pursuits,  and  subjected  to  an 
endless  detail  of  petty  vexations?  by  the  priests,  may  now  and 
then  be  driven  into  an  external  varnish  of  hypocrisy :  but 
even  there,  the  prevalence  of  females  in  the  parochial  con- 

*  It  has  been  much  questioned  whether  Napoleon  should  not  have 
established  a  reformed  church  in  France,  instead  of  making  his  con- 
cordat with  the  Pope.  Of  these  schemes,  one  might  have  been  better 
than  the  other  ;  but  neither  of  them  was  sufficiently  in  accordance 
vvitli  the  age  to  reconcile  the  people  to  the  Athanasian  faith.  A  com- 
plete separation  of  church  and  state,  on  the  American  plan,  would  alone 
have  disarmed  the  national  resentment  against  priestcraft  and  mysti* 
cism  in  religious  matlerg.j 


PUBLIC  OPINION  IN   1829.  183 

gregations  plainly  proves  the  rarity  of  the  fact,  and  the  ge- 
neral insufficiency  of  the  state  rehgion  to  satisfy  either  tlie 
abusive  or  the  useful  purposes  of  such  institutions.  But  in 
the  capital,  and  in  the  large  cities,  where  opinion  isv.more 
free,  and  where  the  authoriti(fs  come  less  closely  in  contact 
with  tha  citizens,  the  spirit  of  mockery  is  more  openl}^  in- 
dulged.  The  appearance  of  the  public  functionaries  in  re- 
ligious processions,  and  the  affected  devotion  of  the  fau- 
bourg, are  so  well  understood,  that  they  are  the  occasion  of 
a  torrent  of  squibs,  sarcasms,  and  epigrams.  While  the 
personal  interference  of  the  clergy  in  favour  of  a  political 
cause,  is  the  shortest  and  promptest  means  of  bringing  it  into 
distrust  and  dislike. 

Whether  it   arose  from  the    narrow   education,  contracted 

intellects,  or  from  longr  absence  from  France  of  the  emigrant 

clergy,  they  totally  miscalculated  the  mental  condition  of  the 

nation,  and  from  the  outset  they  played  their  cards  too  openly. 

Obtaininuf  some    influence   over  the  excitlible  imagination  of 

the  female  part   of  the    public,  they   did  not  employ  this  in 

fluence  to  lead  back  the  men  to  the  sentiment  of  religion 

but  erected  it  at  once  into  a  battery  for  attacking  their  purses 

The  women   were  taught  to  believe  that   the  retaining  pos 

session  of  church  lands  was  an  irremissible  sin  ;  their  feel 

ings  and   their  fears  were  worked   upon,  that  they  might  ca 

jole  or  harass  their  male  relations  into  a  surrender  of  their 

property.      The    inevitable    consequences    were    coldness, 

alienation,  and  discord  in  families,  and  the  relaxation  or  dis- 

solution  of  the  nearest  and  dearest  ties.  Forced,  likewise,  into 

the  observance  of  minute  and  ridiculous  ritual  observances,  and 

compelled  to  forego  the  pleasures   of  society,*  the   women 

were  virtually   separated  from    the  men  ;  domestic  business 

was  neglected,  domestic  comfort  destroyed  ;    "  et  tout  poui'  la 

tripe,"  and  all  for  the  most  obvious  and  clumsy  pursuit  of  the 

selHsh  and  anti-national  interests   of  the  j)arti-prHre.     The 

impertinent  interference  of  the  Jesuits  with  public  education, 

was  still  more  oflfensive  ;  and  the  perpetual  contrast  of  their 

doctrines,  with  all  the  knowledge  and  cultivation  of  the  age, 

confirmed   politicians  in  the  conviction  that  their  object  was 

nothing  less  than  the  total  overthrow  of  liberty,  civil  and  re- 

ligious.-]-     In  this   overwhelming  mass   of  odium,   the  emi- 

*  The  art   of  dancing  has  been  preached  a<rainst  in  the  pulpit,  and 
punished  in  the  confessional,  by  the  curates  of  the  provinces, 
t  The  prevailing  irreligion  of  tbe  French  laity  was  the  work  of  the^ 


184  ruBLic  OPINION  IN  1829. 

grant  party,  and,  through  them,  the  throne  are  deeply  m- 
volved  ;  and  they  are  made  answerable  not  only  for  their 
owh  sins  against  BocieJy,  but  for  those  of  a  corps,  by  which 
they  gain  nothing,  and  for  whose  interests  they  are  really  less 
than  indifferent. 

These  general  considerations  render  the  politics  of  France 
sufficiently  intelligible,  and  prove,  beyond  all  reasonable  con- 
troversy, that  Frenchmen,  in  looking  for  further  guarantees 
for  their  civil  and  religious  rights,  are  doing  nothing  more 
than  their  duty  to  their  country  and  to  their  children.  The 
French  liberals  have  been  studiously  misrepresented,  as 
looking  only  to  revolution,  and  to  the  revival  of  republican 
violence.  But  in  politics  there  is  no  going  back  to  the  past ; 
the  republic  of  Robespierre  is  as  morally  impossible,  as  the 
despotism  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.  The  brutal  ignorance 
and  ferocity  of  the  sans  culottes  was  tha  pure  result  of  an 
education  received  under  the  previous  misrule.  The  jaco- 
bins acquired  their  immorality  from  the  corruption  which 
they  demolished  ;  and  if  all  the  authorities  of  France  were 
annihilated,  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  country  to  relapse 
into  that  moral  and  political  anarchy,  which  desolated  Eu- 
rope, on  the  downfall  of  royahy  in  the  last  epoch  of  the  last 
century.  The  nisus  of  the  population,  under  its  existing, 
state  of  culture,  is  to  constitute,  not  to  destroy;  to  confirm, 
and  to  strengthen,  not  to  overthrow.  The  liberal  party,  be 
it  observed,  is  composed'  of  the  most  active  and  industrious 
portion  of  the  population,  who  (having  tasted  of  the  sweets 
of  domestic  peace,  and  experienced  the  connexion  between 
a  regular  government  and  successful  commerce,)  regard  re- 
volution and  civil  war  with  a  well  founded  abhorrence,  sur- 
passed only  by  their  hatred  of  absolute  despotism,  and  the 
utter  extinction  of  civil  rights.  However  deep-seated  in  the 
national  mind  the  theoretical  preference  of  a  republic  may 
be  ;  yet,  would  such  men  refrain  from  raising  a  finger  to 
overthrow  any  existing  government,  that  left  them  in  the 
peaceful  exercise  of  their  freedom,  and  gave  them  no  dis- 

clergy.  The  excessive  riches  and  scandalous  lives  of  the  prelates,  the 
intrigues  of  the  monks,  and  their  obstinacy  in  maintaining  absurd  prac- 
tices and  childish  nursery  tales,  which  the  age  had  outgrown — but, 
above  all,  the  cruel  persecution  of  the  La  Barres  and  the  Calas — set  so- 
ciety to  think,  and  pr^-pared  the  public  to  receive  Voltaire  and  the  phi- 
losophical writers,  not  only  with  favour,  but  aflfection.  It  was  a  sense 
of  suffering  that  [U'ovoked  inquiry  ;  and  it  was  personal  annoyance  that 
gave  such  intense  interest  to  dis&eut 


PUBLIC  OPIWION  IX  1829.  ISS 

quietudes  for  its  future  security.  The  age  of  political  fana- 
ticism is  {massed  away ;  and  men  are  no  longer  prepared  to 
fight  for  a  form,  or  to  deify  an  abstraction.  In  France,  as 
in  England,  positive  utility  is  becoming  the  general  measure 
of  conduct,  and  the  end  of  speculation. 

In  granting  the  charter,  the  king,  though  acting  probably 
with  no  direct  consciousness  of  ill  faith,  was  prevented  by 
his  own  prejudices,  and  the  influence  of  advisers,  from  mak- 
ing it  all  that  was  necessary  for  the  security  of  the  throne, 
and  the  prosperity  of  the  country.  In  insisting  upon  the 
grant  being  received  as  a  special  act  of  his  own  w.ll,  a  deed 
octroye  to  the  people,  an  impulse  of  benevolence,  and  not  a 
concession  of  right,  he  probably  contemplated  only  a  matter 
of  form,  a  saving  of  his  own  royal  pride,  which  made  no  es- 
sential  difference  in  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  gift.  Bj.it  this 
idle  stickling  for  a  phrase,  not  only  deprived  a  dignified  and 
politic  measure  of  all  its  grace,  and  insulted  the  nation,  which 
it  was  intended  to  pacify,  but  it  opened  a  real  and  substan- 
tial source  of  evil  and  disquietude,  of  which  the  ultras  were 
not  slow  to  take  advantage.  The  fundamental  merit  of  such 
a  compact  is  its  definitive  character.  Its  office,  like  that  of 
a  standard  measure  and  weight  in  commerce,  is  to  aff()rd  a 
ready  and  immutable  appeal  in  the  adjustment  of  all  inciden- 
tal  differences ;  and  to  discharge  this  office  with  effect,  the 
compact  must  possess  within  itself  the  sources  of  universal 
confidence  and  agreement,  and  be  placed  beyond  the  reach 
and  influence  of  caprice.  But  that  which  is  granted  of  the 
absolute  authority  and  plenary  will  of  one  despot,  may  be 
modified,  deteriorated,  or  revoked  by  another;  and  as  Benj. 
de  Constant  well  observed,  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes  was  a  serious  precedent.  This  verity  was  early  and 
eagerly  put  forward,  and  forced  upon  public  attention,  by  the 
ultra-journalists,  and  the  cote  droit  in  the  chamber  ;  who, 
whenever  they  felt  themselves  impeded  by  the  dispositions 
of  the  charte,  proceeded  openly  to  solicit  its  violation.  The 
whole  drift  of  the  absolutists  is  to  push  the  king  upon  dis- 
solving the  chambers,  and  then  establishing  by  ordonnance 
(that  is,  of  his  own  mere  will)  a  new  election  law,  which 
would  place  the  nomination  of  members  in  his  own  hands, 
and  render  the  chamber  a  mere  court  of  registration. 

From  the  moment  when  the  charter  came  into  operation, 
the  whole  emigrant  influence  has  been  exerted  to  convert  it 
into  an  instrument  of  tyranny,  and  to  beat  down  all  the  bar- 
jjiers  it  contains,  against  the  inroads  of  their  ambition.     The. 

1.6* 


186  PUBtrC  OPINION  IN  1829. 

history  of  France,  since  that  day,  has  consisted  on  the  one 
hand  in  a  series  of  plots  and  conspiracies  to  crush  the  liber- 
ties which  the  charter  guarantees — to  force  or  to  elude  its 
dispositions  ;  and  on  the  other,  in  persevering  and  undaunt- 
ed efforts  of  the  press  and  the  •  patriotic  deputies  to  defeat 
these  intrigues,  and  to  educate  and  enlighten  the  people.  In 
the  organization  of  the  imperial  government,  ample  materials 
were  found  for  the  purposes  of  despotism;  and  as  this  orga- 
nization was  adopted  provisionally,  till  other  institutions  more 
analogous  to  the  spirit  of  the  charter  should  be  enacted,  it 
has  been  industriously  exploited,  to  influt^nce  the  elections, 
and  to  stiflp!  and  silence  the  expression  of  opinion.  But  when 
this  influence  was  found  insufficient  for  court  purposes,  the 
law  of  election  itself  was  changed,  by  a  subservient  cham- 
ber, with  the  hope  of  depriving  it  of  its  popular  character  ; 
but  the  act  of  the  last  sessions,  which  facilitates  the  punish- 
ment of  corrupt  functionaries,  and  establishes  a  short  process 
for  preventing  either  the  admission  of  non-electors,  or  the 
exclusion- of  electoi's  from  the  ballot,  still  preserves  the  legis- 
lative body,  (though  an  inadequate  representation  of  the 
people,)  an  efficient  barrier  against  ministerial  usurpations. 

In  the  eyes  of  an  intolerant  hierarchy,  and  of  an  arbitrary 
and  haughty  nobility,  all  freedom  of  opinion  whatever  is  an 
abomination.  Here,  again,  tlie  jealous  despolism  of  Napo- 
leon v/as  most  serviceable  to  his  successors.  In  the  practices 
of  his  government,  a  precedent  was  afforded,  and  the  means 
and  instruments  were  prepared  for  the  establishing  a  rigid 
censorship  of  the  press  ;  and  during  the  re-action  of  the 
restoration,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  procuring  a  legislative 
sanction  to  the  revival  of  that  abominable  and  criminal  mea- 
sure. On  this  point,  however,  the  French  nation  is  invulne- 
rable. As  long  as  newspapers  are  not  absolutely  prohibited, 
and  printing  forbidden,  the  awakened  intelligence  and  eager 
conception  of  the  people,  will  seek  and  find  information  in 
the  most  remote  allusions  ;  and  in  proportion  to  the  increas- 
ing danger  and  difficulty  of  directly  expressing  opinion,  wilj 
be  the  increasing  piquancy  and  effect  of  those  fine  insmua- 
tions  and  spiritual  cuts,  which  the  French  know  so  well  how 
to  point,  and  so  keerJy  to  relish.  Upon  the  subsidence  of  roy- 
alist re-action,  however,  the  chambers  resumed  their  natu- 
ral office  of  protectors  of  the  freedom  of  opinion  ;  the  censure 
was  abolished  ;  and  gradually  and  slowly  they  have  divested 
the  law  of  sorne  other  of  its  most  tyrannical  enactments. 
Xhe  t\vo  greatest  restraints  now  (1829)  in  operation  on  Uic.. 


PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829.  187 

press  are  the  non-intervention  of  the  jury,  and  the  power 
which  the  authorities  possess  of  depriving  a  newspaper-editor 
of  his  license,  on  the  most  trifling  and  insignificant  convic- 
tion ;  so  that  any  sentence,  short  of  acquittal,  puts  the  capi- 
tal of  the  proprietor  in  fearful  jeopard\\  But  such  is  the 
force  of  opinion  in  France,  that  the  judges,  though  under  the 
control  of  the  government,  by  giving  the  fairest  and  most 
liberal  construction  to  the  law,  have  imposed  great  restraints 
on  the  crown  prosecutors  ;  and  under  their  protection,  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  practical  liberty  is  injoyed  by  journalists 
and  political  writers. 

Another  subject  of  contention  between  the  ultras  and  the 
liberals  is  that  of  national  education.  With  a  diabolical  ma- 
lice, (fortunately  for  mankind  as  weak  as  it  is  wicked,)  the 
emigrant  paftv  have  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  debase  and 
enslave  the  French  mind,  by  committing  the  education  of 
youth  to  the  hands  of  the  priests,*  whose  lessons  are  those  of 
passive  slavery  and  abject  superstition.  The  government,  in 
most  Christian  communities,  has  arrogated  to  itself  the  privi- 
lege of  establishing  schools,  where,  under  the  pretence  of  in- 
struction, they  warp  and  bend  the  infant  mind  to  the  adof)tion 
of  some  narrow  sectarian  doctrine.  That  this  practice  is  not 
either  the  interest  or  the  duty  of  a  good  government,  might 
easily  be  shewn.  That  it  is  most  disadvantageous  to  religion, 
to  truth,  to  freedom,  and  to  happiness,  is  of  no  difficult  demon- 
stration. But  the  discussion  between  the  contending  parties 
in  France,  is  brought  within  still  narrower  bounds.  The  go- 
vernment, not  contented  with  throwing  the  whole  weiglit  of 
their  influence  and  purse  into  the  scale  of  priestly  perversion, 
endeavoured,  and  for  a  short  time  succeeded,  to  obtain  for 
the  church  an  absolute  monopoly  of  education.  The  osten- 
tatious revival  of  Jesuitism,  which  had  been  abolished  by  the 
parliaments  of  the  old  regime,  was  connected  with  this  syste- 
matic attempt  to  pervert  and  degrade  humanity. 

*  •'  An  order  of  men,"  says  Giblion,  "  whose  manners  are  remote 
from  the  present  world  ;  and  whose  eyes  are  dazzled  hy  the  light  of 
philosophy."  The  intense  wickedness  of  abusing  the  lirst  of  all  public 
trusts,  (tlial  of  educatins;  the  people,)  and  of  incapacitating  the  child 
from  ever  daily  exercising  the  faculties  of  the  man,  is  carried,  in  France, 
to  a  pitch  which  can  scarcely  be  imagined.  The  coarsest  and  most  vul- 
gar superstitions  are  inculcated  both  from  the  chair  and  the  pulpit,  as 
verities  equally  demonstrative  and  important  as  the  existence  of  a  Deity. 
Fortunately  for  the  country,  this  is  done  with  mor.^  zeal  than  discre- 
tion;— and  the  public,  in>tead  of  being  edi6ed,  are  shocl<ed  and  indig- 
nant at  the  scandalous  charUUanerU. 


188  prBLic  OPINION  IN  1829. 

Great  variety  of  opinion  has  been  expressed  on  the  impor- 
tance of  this  transaction,  and  concerning  the  wisdom  of  those 
fears  and  dislikes,  which  all  France  has  expressed  on  the  re- 
appearance  of  the  Jesuits  in  the  political  scene.  But  in  such 
matters  the  instincts  of  nations  may  be  safely  trusted. 

Man  in  his  corporate  capacity,  like  arlimals  in  their  indivi- 
dual persons,  often  recognizes  his  enemy,  even  before  expe- 
rience has  made  him  acquainted  with  its  fang,  or  reason  de- 
veloped its  felonious  intentions.  The  age  of  Jesuitism,  it  is 
true,  has  passed.  It  is  no  longer  the  same  well-adapted  en- 
gine of  deception,  nor  does  the  same  spirit  and  ability  throw 
its  machinery  into  action.  If  left  to  themselves,  and  unsup-  ■ 
ported  by  the  government,  the  Jesuits  might  safely  have  been 
trusted  to  play  their  mountebank  part  before  the  public,  and 
practise  the  cunning  of  their  equivocal  morality.  The  world 
has  become  too  enlightened  for  such  agency  ;  and  the  know- 
ledge of  the  day  is  more  than  a  match  for  all  the  Loyolists, 
past,  present,  and  to  come*  The  enemy  of  mankind  is  not 
now  to  be  scared  from  his  hold  of  the  possessed,  by  the  invo- 
cation of  "  Speluncam  Dido  dux  et  Trojanus  eandem  ;"  Vir- 
gil  vvill  no  longer  pass  for  the  Bible  ;  or,  at  least,  the  ma- 
noeuvre must  be  conducted  in  the  presence  only  of  the  most 
ignorant  and  debased  of  the  species. 

The  French  Jesuits,  taken  by  themselves,  are  no  otherwise 
formidable,  in  their  political  agency,  than  any  other  incorpo- 
rated body  of  fanatics  and  impostors  ;  but  the  civil  conspiracy, 
conducted  in  their  name,  associating,  in  a  secret  bond,  func- 
tionaries of  all  sorts,  and  citizens  of  all  stations,  and  covering 
the  whole  land  with  a  connected  mesh- work  of  espionnage,  is 
a  political  evil  of  the  first  magnitude,  and  requires  all  the  wis- 
dom and  firmness  of  honest  men  to  eradicate  and  destroy. 
Jesuitism,  as  it  exists  in  France,  is  far  less  a  religious,  than 
a  political  machine.  That  the  members  of  the  order  are  seek- 
ing for  power,  to  wield  it  in  favour  of  the  church,  is  true  ;  but 
their  short-robed  allies  consider  them  and  their  religion  to- 
gether, but  as  the  tools  for  effecting  their  own  purposes  ;  and 
it  is  this  alliance  that  has  brought  Jesuitism  into  such  promi- 
nent notice.  By  means  of  this  agency,  a  political  free-ma- 
sonry  was  established,  which  extended  itself  to  the  remotest 
ramifications  of  the  public  service.  To  be  addicted  to  Jesuit- 
ism, became  the  direct  road  to  advancement,  in  every  depart- 
ment ;  and  the  initiated,  being  thus  placed  at  the  head  of  affairs,, 
administered  all  things,  with  a  view  to  counter-revolution^ 
Jesuit  prefects,  more  especially,  exercised  a  decided  influ«. 


ruBLic  oi'iNioN  IN  1820.  189 

ence  in  the  elections,  and  controlled  the  free  action  of  the  ci- 
tizens  ;  while  an  universal  and  minute  correspondence,  made 
the  principles  and  leanings  of  every  man  of  the  slightest  mark, 
known  to  the  heads  of  the  conspiracy. 

Under  a  system  thus  powerful  and  protected,  the  order 
opened  a  career  of  ambition  to  the  youth  of  France,  scarce- 
ly less  inciting  than  that  which  had  been  afforded  by  Napo- 
leon's army  ;  and  many  young  men  of  ardent  imaginations 
and  burning  passions,  had  enlisted  into  the  service  of  St. 
'Acheul,  and  would,  in  time,  have  become  troublesome  and 
dangerous  to  society. 

C  onfident  in  the  influence  they  had  thus  obtained,  the 
counter-revolutionists  were  marching  with  rapid  strides,  un- 
der the  administration  of  Viilele,  to  the  accomplishment  of 
their  wildest  desires ;  but  acting,  as  they  have  ever  done, 
without  a  due  knowledge  of  the  people  with  whom  they  had 
to  deal,  at  the  very  moment  of  their  presumed  triumph,  they 
were  defeated  and  disgraced,  by  the  determined  and  irresis- 
tible will  of  the  nation.  The  court,  the  emigration,  the  mi- 
nisters, and  the  Jesuits,  all  gave  way,  at  the  aspect  of  ap- 
proaching opposition.  The  gulf  of  a  new  revolution  open- 
ed at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  and  Viilele  was  precipitated  in- 
to it,  an  unwilling  Curtius,  to  close  its  yawning  cavity. 

By  the  firmness  of  the  deputies,  and  the  energy  of  the 
people,  France  was  once  more  saved  from  the  violence  of 
the  ultras.  At  the  period  of  our  arrival  in  Paris,  the  nation 
was  in  the  plenitude  of  its  satisfaction  at  this  defeat  of  their 
enemies.  The  Viilele  administration,  stained  with  the  blood 
of  the  people,  and  loaded  with  their  execrations,  had  been 
driven  with  disgrace  and  ridicule  from  the  scene.  A  cabi- 
net of  more  liberal  views,  and  popular  pretensions,  had  come 
into  office  ;  the  Jesuits  were  foiled,  and  deprived  of  the  great- 
er part  of  their  direct  influence  on  education.  The  press 
was  unmolested  by  power  ;  new  laws  were  passed  to  insure 
the  purity  of  election  ;  the  productive  energies  of  the  peo- 
ple were,  with  a  few  local  exceptions,  in  a  course  of  success- 
ful exertion.  .Justice  was  cheap  and  unshackled  ;  the  march 
of  the  government  was  unembarrassed,  and  the  liberal  de- 
puties, so  far  from  being  inclined  to  push  intemperately  their 
advantages  against  monarciiy,  were  perhaps  too  moderate  in 
their  demands  for  reform.  The  .exterior  of  public  afi\iirs  an- 
nounced a  sound  and  healthy  condition  of  the  country,  a 
prompt  recovery  from  the  losses  occasioned  by  the  foreign 
occupation,  and  a  speedy  restoration  to  that  just  weight  and 


190  ruBLio  OPINION  IN  1829. 

influence,  wliich  France  ought  to  possess  in  the  European 
commonweaUh.  At  this  moment,  the  constitutional  monar- 
chy seemed  to  have  taiien  a  firm  hold  of  the  habits  and  af- 
fections of  the  people  ;  and  so  much  had  the  rage  for  poli- 
tics subsided,  that  the  salons  of  Paris  were  exclusively  oc- 
cupied with  literary  discussions,  and  the  disputes  of  rival 
metaphysical  professors.  The  proceedings  of  the  chambers, 
agitated  only  on  the  one  question  of  the  new  departmental 
organization,  were  occupied  chiefly  with  the  details  of  fi- 
nance. The  press,  unattacked  and  enjoying  a  practical  free- 
dom, was  busied  with  the  discussion  of  matters,  merely  mi- 
nisterial ;  and  the  agitating  questions  of  elementary  princi- 
ple reposed  in  silence.  No  less  than  five  shadings  of  opi- 
nion were  counted  in  the  chamber  of  deputies.  The  centre, 
with  its  subdivisions  q{ centre,  droit,  et  gauche,  interposed  be- 
tween the  ultra  liberals  and  ultra  royalists,  became  a  guaran- 
tee for  the  moderation  of  the  legislature,  and  by  its  librations 
prevented  any  violent  or  revolutionary  movement,  in  either 
of  the  extremes.  In  such  a  state  of  things,  with  the  illu- 
mination of  the  age  to  guide  or  to  force  public  men,  the 
constitutional  system  might  have  slowly  and  surely  advanced 
to  the  highest  degree  of  perfection  to  which  human  insti- 
tutes are  susceptible  ;  and  the  throne,  founded  in  the  affec 
tions  of  the  people,  might  have  become  firmer,  than  if  it 
had  never  been  shaken. 

But,  the  spirit  of  discord,  if  rebuked,  was  not  checked — 
though  abashed,  it  was  not  baffled.  The  emigrant  conspi- 
racy still  continued  en  'permanence ;  and  the  partisans  of 
abuse  still  surrounded  the  king,  and  poured  "  the  leperous 
distilment "  of  their  hopes  and  apprehensions  into  his  too 
willing  ears.  The  Martignac  ministry,  though  neither  frank- 
ly liberal,  nor  energetic  in  its  reforms,  was  too  popular  for 
the  notions  of  the  Tuileries ;  and  hints  of  an  approaching 
change  in  the  ministry,  and  of  a  recurrence  to  coups  d'etat 
and  despotic  violence  already  began  to  disturb  the  newly- 
found  tranquillity  of  the  chambers  and  capital. 

The  position  of  the  ministers  themselves  was  by  no  means 
without  its  difiiculties.  Distrusted  and  disliked  by  the  king 
because  they  had  been  imposed  on  him,  they  were  thwarted 
in  their  liberal  intentions  by  the  court,  and  were  goaded  to 
measures  of  severity  by  the  power  "  behind  the  throne  and 
greater  than  the  throne."  In  such  a  position  men  of  inde- 
pendence and  firmness,  backed  by  the  public  opinion,  which 
placed  them  in  office,  and  by  the  force  of  character,  wouldl, 


PUBLIC  OPIMON  IN  1829.  191 

have  kept  the  faubourgs  in  check,  or  tendered  their  resigna- 
tion. High-minded  men  would  have  disdained  to  truckle,  or 
to  temporize  with  their  enemies.  Knowing  men  would  have 
avoided  a  cowardly  condescension,  as  a  political  suicide. 
By  firm  and  manly  conduct,  the  ministry  might  intJeeJ  have 
been  for  a  while  unseated,  through  a  court  intrigue  ;  but  they. 
would  have  retired  strong  in  their  popularity ;  and  ihey 
would  have  returned  to  office  more  powerful  than  before,  on 
the  first  access  of  a  cold  fit  of  royal  apprehension. 

Overlooking  these  considerations,  or  not  having  the  force 
of  character  to  act  upon  their  suggestion,  the  Martignac  mi- 
nistry  strove  to  disarm  the  emigrant  faction,  by  submission  ; 
and  to  reconcile  it  to  a  liberal  cabinet  by  being  as  little  li- 
beral as  they  could.  As  the  sessions  advanced  and  exposed 
more  and  more  their  nullity  or  their  tergiversation,  they  lost 
influence  with  the  chambers,  and  character  with  the  public  ; 
till  their  popularity  having  turned  to  indifference,  and  indif- 
ference to  dislike,  they  were  thrust  out  of  office,  to  make  way 
for  the  Polignac  administration  without  a  struggle  ;  and  they 
are  already  forgotten,  as  if  they  had  never  been. 

Could  the  court  party,  on  the  other  hand,  have  abandoned 
its  fears  and  its  jealousies,  and  honestly  have  admitted  the 
existence  of  a  real  representative  government,  the  Martignac 
ministry  had  nothing  in  it  to  excite  especial  distaste.  Its 
principles  were  sufficiently  monarchic  and  aristocratic  to 
strengthen  the  lawful  and  honest  privileges  of  the  crown  ; 
and  coming  after  the  atrocious  violence  of  Villele,  it  might 
have  been  sufficiently  liberal  to  preserve  the  public  confi. 
dence.  Its  dismissal,  therefore,  shewed  that  the  quarrel  be- 
tween privileges  and  civil  rights  is  not  to  be  compromised  : 
that  the  revolution  is  not  to  be  forgiven  ;  and  a  new  expe- 
riment is  now  making  upon  the  patience  of  the  people,  which 
threatens  France  with  a  new  revolution,  and  the  Bourbons 
with  another  journey  to  Hartwell. 

The  game  which  is  at  present  playing,  is,  in  fact,  no  other 
than  that  which  has  been  attempted  over  and  over  again,  and 
always  to  the  ultimate  discomfiture  of  the  ultra  faction.  The 
ministry  of  1814,  under  precisely  similar  circumstances, 
brought  back  Napoleon  from  the  isle  of  Elba.  In  1819,  the 
ultra  faction,  seeking  the  same  objects  and  moved  by  the 
same  passions,  repeated  their  attack  on  public  liberty,  and 
were  defeated.  The  Villele  administration  underwent  a  simi- 
lar  destiny.  With  a  knowledge  of  these  events  in  their  minds, 


192  PUBLIC  OPINION  IN  1829. 

it  is  not  very  difficult  for  the  nation  to  solve  the  riddle  of  the 
Prince  Polignac's  intentions  in  assuming  office. 

The  French  are  accused,  even  in  our  liberal  journals,  of 
petulance  and  precipitancy,  forjudging  the  new  cabinet  by 
their  antecedents,  and  not  awaiting  the  coming  of  events,  be- 
fore they  commence  a  resistance  to  the  admission  of  such 
men  into  office  ;  but  never  was  accusation  less  founded,  or 
reasonable.  The  individuals  composing  the  new  ministry 
are  not  "  unknown  to  fame  ;"  the  party  which  pushed  them 
forward  on  the  scene,  are  already  judged  by  the  country  ; 
their  views  and  their  projects  are  even  boastfully  announced 
by  the  journals  in  their  pay.  The  very  appointment  of  one 
individual  whose  conduct  in  the  army  should  have  made 
him  the  last  man  in  France  so  to  be  selected,  was  an  insult 
to  the  nation,  and  a  declaration  of  war  against  patriotism 
and  public  feeling. 

The  events  which  have  subsequently  occurred,  come  not 
within  the  scope  of  the  present  volume,  and  the  temptation 
is  not  great  to  deviate  from  the  prescribed  course,  for 
their  display.  The  noble  and  generous  conduct  of  the 
French  chamber  of  deputies,  (where  the  purchase  of  twenty 
members  would  have  determined  a  ministerial  triumph,  and 
where  all  the  gold  in  the  French  treasury  could  not  bribe 
that  number,)  offers  too  miserable  a  contrast  with  another 
chamber,  (split  into  paltry  guerilla  factions,  agreeing  in  no- 
thing but  the  common  pursuit  of  selfish  and  pecuniary  ends,) 
to  affi:>rd  matter  for  pleasant  expatiation  to  a  British  pen. 
The  comparison  is  mortifying,  humiliating,  depressing.  It 
is  far  indeed  from  the  indecent  juggle  of  an  East  Retford 
borough  assignment,  or  the  struggle  to  defraud  the  public  by 
an  issue  of  unconvertible  paper, — it  is  far  from  the  petty 
triumph  of  stopping  900/.  out  of  the  mass  of  corrupt  and 
abusive  expenditure,  to  that  energetic  address,  which  has 
earned  for  the  French  chambers  the  honours  of  prorogation, 
and  the  love  and  veneration  of  their  constituents.  It  is  fur- 
ther still  from  the  perjured  electors  of  English  boroughs, 
who  return  the  nominees  of  nobility,  to  the  honest  freemen 
of  France,  whom  money  cannot  purchase  nor  power  in^ 
timidate. 

Of  the  probable  results  of  this  new  contest,  in  which  the 
French  court  has  so  wantonly  embarked,  there  is  the  less  ne- 
cessity for  hazarding  a  conjecture,  as  it  may  happen  that  the 
question  may  be  already  settled,  before  these  pages  reach 
the  press.     But  be  the  immediate  issue  what  it  may,  the  ulti- 


THE  GIRAFFE.  *      193 

mate  destinies  of  France  are  secure  ;  secure  in  the  sound- 
ness  and  patriotism  of  the  people,  and  in  the  prooressive 
difilision  of  poHtical  intelligence,  firmness,  and  of  modera- 
tion. Every  day  that  passes  adds  to  the  strength  of  the 
people,  and  takes  something  from  the  coterie  of  exclusive 
privileges  and  of  despotic  misrule.  That  France  will  eventual. 
iy  be  a  free  country,  is  a  consoling  truth  for  England  and  for 
Europe,  founded  on  the  certain  augury  of  the  relation  of 
causes  to  effects.  Whether  that  freedom  shall  be  peaceably 
and  happily  effected,  or  purchased  only  by  blood  and  a  se- 
cond revolution,  depends  on  the  wisdom,  and  fortunately 
also  on  the  political  courage  of  the  reigning  dynasty. 


THE  GIRAFFE. 

In  looking,  this  morning,  over  a  list  of  visits,  after  \ve  had 
got  mto  the  carriage,  we  were  struck  by  the  odd  associations 
it  presented,  for  it  began  with  Cuvier,  and  ended  with  the 
giraffe,  including  the  most  celebrated  physician  and  physio- 
legist,  the  most  eminent  naturalist,  and  the  first  mathemati- 
cian, in  France  :  in  a  word — Messieurs  Broussais,  Geffroi- 
St.-Hilaire,  and  La  Croix  ! 

As  the  giraffe  is  (to  use  the  words  of  Beranger,)  "  Vani- 
mal  le  7noins  remuanfCy'"  and  might  never  leave  Paris  ;  and 
as  her  companion  in  England  was  either  dying  or  dead,  we 
were  particularly  desirous  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  one 
so  much  a-la-mode,  and  were  curious  to  ascertain  the  grounds 
of  her  popularity  and  fashion.  Her  bon-mot,  on  her  arrival, 
in  passing  through  the  staring  multitude  of  Parisian  badaux, 
— "  Mes  amis,  il  ■ii'-y-a  qu'une  bele  de  plus  ;"  the  elegant  no- 
velties in  dress,  to  which  her  name  gave  vogue,  and  the  high 
moral  qualities  attributed  to  her  by  all  the  French  naturalists, 
had  raised  the  giraffe,  in  our  expectation,  to  the  dignity  of 
a  "  a  lion,"  whi-  n  "  not  to  know,  would  argue  ourselves  un- 
known." 

On  reaching  her  residence,  in  the  "  jardin  des  plantes,'' 
we  found  sa  celebrity  taking  the  air,  in  a  little  park,  in  front 
of  her  pavilion.  Beside  her  stood  her  premier  geniilhomme 
de  la  chambre,  a  faithful  friend,  and  countryman,  who  has 
accompanied   her  emigration.     His   tall,   fine   figure,   jet- 

VoL.  I.— 17 


194  THE  GIRAFFE. 

black  complexion,  and  graceful  attitude  and  costume,  com> 
bined  with  the  appearance  of  the  gigantic  animal,  with  whom 
he  seemed  to  hold  "  high  communion,"  presented  a  graphic 
combination,  and  afforded  curious  specimens  of  the  respec- 
tive species  in  that  great  and  distant  region,  whence  the  en- 
terprize  of  science  had  conducted  both.  Nothing  is  more 
striking  in  the  giraflie  than  the  disproportions  of  its  form, 
■with  the  beautiful  graces  of  its  movements.  Its  inteUigence 
is  strongly  illustrated  by  its  docility  and  mildness,  which 
amount  almost  to  courtesy.  A  lev^e  had  collected  round  this 
*'  illustrious  stranger,"  which  seemed  as  anxious  to  attract 
her  notice,  as  that  which  fills  the  royal  bed-room  of  Charles 
the  Tenth,  to  catch  the  good  omen  of  his  morning  smile, 
while  the  premier  valet  de  chambre  of  the  old  peerage  pre- 
sents hi»  shirt,  or  offers  his  handkerchief:  and  the  giraffe,  blS 
if  aware  of  the  wishes  of  her  court,  repeatedly  stepped  for- 
ward, bowed  her  long  neck,  and  put  forth  her  head  between 
the  bars  of  her  ruelle,  to  receive  the  homage  of  her  courtiers. 
The  whole  scene  was  amusing  and  characteristic,  and  it  re- 
called the  much  vaunted  royal  courtesy,  on  similar  occasions, 
at  the  Tuileries — the  "  bHe  de  plus,"  did  not  lose  by  the 
comparison. 

The  neighbours  of  the  gentle  and  intelligent  giraffe,  are 
a  surly,  restless  bear,  and  a  heavy,  stupid  buffalo  :  not  all 
that  Owen  or  Pestalozzi  could  devise,  would  give  to  this  bear 
and  buffalo,  the  intelligent  gentleness,  so  obvious  in  their  gu 
gantic  associate. 

Delightful  as  it  is  to  behold  new  and  fine  forms,  and  fresh 
proofs  of  the  great  creative  power,  (come  as  they  may, 
from  "  Indus  or  the  Pole,"  to  the  mart  of  civihzation),  there 
was  a  still  higher  gratification  obtained  by  this  visit  to  the 
giraffe,  it  was  the  happy  view  of  the  humbler  classes  of  the 
people  of  Paris,  who,  on  this  day,  thronged  the  jardins  des 
plantes,  for  which  there  is  much  facility  in  procuring  tickets 
of  admission,  as  for  all  such  establishments  in  France.  It 
was  a.  jour  de  fHe,  and  tradespeople  and  artisans  had  come 
here  to  pass  it  worthily,  by  studying  the  Creator  in  his  works, 
thus  collected  from  far  remote  climes  and  regions,  for  their 
instruction  and  benefit.  Curiosity,  indulged  with  order  ; 
surprise,  expressed  with  naivete;  information,  sought  with 
zeal,  — such  were  the  traits  of  manners  obvious  in  the  exte- 
rior depcTtment  of  the  miscellaneous  crowds,  (among  which 
were  many  military  subalterns,*)  who  wandered  in  harm- 

*  Having  visited  the  Bibliotlieque  du  Roi,  several  days  consecutively, 


LE  SACRE  DU  ROI  CHARLES  X.  195 

less  admiration  through  -parterres  of  the  most  precious  plants 
and  tlowers,  or  paced  the  galleries  of  its  unrivalled  museu(n, 
with  noiseless  sltjps,  and  whispered  observations. 

We  proceeded,  with  increased  in  erest,  to  accomplish  our 
intended  visits  to  Messieurs  Cuvier,  liroussais,  GefTroi-St.- 
Hilaire,  and  La  Croix ;  for  it  is  to  such  men  that  modern 
France  owes  such  establishments  as  Jes  j&rdins  des  jAantes, 
and  that  wondrous  spre;  d  of  knowledge  among  the  intelli.. 
gent  population  we  had  left  there.* 


GERARD.— LE  SACRE  DU  ROI  CHARLES  X. 

How  one  envies  the  contemporaries  and  townsmen  of 
Raffaele,  Michael  Angelo,  Titian,  and  the  other  distinguish- 
ed masters  of  Italy  !  What  pleasure  to  have  visited  their 
great  works  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening  to  have  met 
and  conversec  with  themselves;  to  have  asked  Raffaele  how 
he  felt,  while  working  at  his  divine  picture  of  St.  Cecilia,  or 
to  have  inquired  from  Salvator  Rosa,  what  he  thought  of  the 
exhibition  of  his  Catiline  conspiracy. 

All  yesterday  we  were  occupied  with  the  Mus^e,  and  prin- 
cipally with  the  pictures  in  the  salon  of  the  exhibition,  A 
crowd  was  gathered  round  the  picture  of  the   "  Sacre'^\  of 

to  make  extracts  from  particular  books,  I  always  observed  a  common 
soldier  seated  opposite  to  me,  and  similarly  oc(-upied  ;  he  had  one  of 
the  finest  heads  I  ever  beheld  ;  he  was  occasionally  joined  by  one  of 
his  comrades,  occupied  in  anotlier  room,  like  liiinself.  If  such  be  a 
"specimen  of  the  French  army,  let  those  who  count  upon  the  blind 
obedience  of  a  brute  military  force,  look  to  it." 

*  We  Were  accompanied,  during  the  "  courses  "  of  this  agreeable 
day,  by  an  old  friend,  tho  ex-American  consul,  Mr.  Warden,  who, 
though  out  of  office  as  a  diplomale,  acts  as  the  Cicerone  to  the  United 
States,  at  Paris,  and  cuts  short  for  the  strangers  recommended  to  his 
courtesy,  the  difficulties  and  inconveniences  of  a  first  arrival.  Thirty 
years'  residence  in  Paris  retiders  him  a  most  iiUelligent  and  useful 
guide;  and  I  was  happy  to  find  that  his  experience  and  opinion  con- 
firmed our  own  observations  concerning  the  middle  and  lower  ranks 
of  the  people.  "  So  devoted  are  they,"  said  INlr.  Warden,  "  to  know- 
ledge, and  so  highly  do  they  esteem  it,  that  in  recommending  a  stran- 
ger to  their  notice,  either  in  the  way  of  friendlv  intercourse  or  bus!-, 
ness,  one  of  their  first  questions  is,  Estil  bien  ikrt  ?  A-t-il  requ  I'edu" 
cation  ?" 

t  "The  Coronation." 


196  GERARD. 

Charles  the  Tenth,  by  Gerard,  which  rendered  it  for  some 
time  inaccessible.  The  success  of  a  painter  must  depend 
upon  the  nature  of  bis  subject,  no  less  than  on  its  execution ; 
for  the  judgnienL  of  the  spectator  must  be  influenced  by  his 
sensations  and  affectioas.  In  this  point  of  view,  there  is  a 
vast  contrast  between  the  ^'  Sacre,"  and  the  "  Entry  of  Hen- 
ry the  Fourth  into  Paris,"  or  the  "  Battle  of  Austerhtz,"  by 
the  same  great  master.  All  that  could  be  done  by  art  for 
such  a  scene  as  the  "  Sacre,'"  with  such  means  and  originals 
as  the  painter  had  to  work  on,  has  been  done.  But  what 
where  his  models  ?  It  is  in  vain  that  his  admirable  powers 
of  drawing  have  bren  lavished  to  give  force  and  symmetry  to 
figures  that  had  none  :  that  he  has  made  foolish  faces  look 
grave,  which  even  his  art  could  not  make  to  look  wise  ;  and 
attempted  to  give  to  the  Poloniuses  of  the  court,  an  expres- 
sion of  intelligence  which  nature  had  denied  them.  The 
stamp  of  times  and  principles,  beyond  the  art  of  one  of  the 
greatest  painters  of  his  age,  to  efface  or  dignify,  comes  forth 
and  proves  the  inefficiency  of  the  highest  genius,  to  ennoble 
that,  which  is  in  itself  ignoble.*  Of  all  the  personages, 
princes,  dukes,  cardinals,  and  bishops,  who  fill  this  spacious 
and  most  brilliant  picture,  there  is  one  only  who  struck  me 
as  particularly  well  placed  ;  it  was  the  Cardinal  Ducde  Cler- 
mont Tonnerre  ;  for  his  back  is  turned  to  the  spectator,  and 
nothing  is  visible  but  his  robe  and  tonsure—the  most  vera- 
cious part  of  the  person  of  this  ultra  priest  and  prelate. 

Such  as  the  picture  of  the  "  Sacre"  is,  it  proves  the  genius 
of  the  master,  by  its  decided  superiority  as  a  composition  to 
the  other  paintings  on  the  same  subject,  commanded  by  the 
minister  Corbieres,  whose  mal-administration  with  respect  to 
the  arts,  has  been  frequently  mentioned  to  us. 

In  the  evening,  we  went  to  the  soiree,  at  Gerard's  ;  my 
mind  was  too  much  pre-occupied  with  his  picture,  not  to 
mrke  it  an  immediate  subject  of  conversation.  I  asked  him 
why  he  had  chosen  that  particular  moment,  when  the  cere- 
mony is  over,  as  the  accolade  was  certainly  a  less  picturesque 
representation  than  the  "  Sacre"  itself. 

"The  moment,'*  he  said,   "  you  allude  to,  was  suggested 

*  Monsieur  Gerard  I  id  this  subject  forced  upon  him  by  royal  com- 
mand. He  had  avoided  the  ppsence  of  Charles  the  Tenth,  when  that 
monarch  was  dTstiil>uting  marks  of  his  approbation  to  the  painters  in 
the  Louvre.  The  king  noticed  his  absence;  and  observed,  "  I  regret 
tbai  M.  GSrard  is  not  here  to  learn  from  aie  that  1  char^re  him  with  ibe 
painting  of  my  Coronatl:?B." 


LE  SACRE  DU  ROI  CHARLES  X.  197" 

to  me  by  high  authority,  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  repre- 
sent a  king  of  France  at  the  feet  of  the  priests."* 

Shortly  afterwards,  I  visited  Gerard  in  his  study,  where 
nearly  all  the  potentates  of  Europe  had  come  to  seek  the  only 
immortality  reserved  for  them.  I  found  him  giving  the  last 
touches  to  a  work,  of  a  far  different  interest  from  the  sacre  of 
Charles  the  Tenth.  It  was  the  tomb  of  Napoleon,  in  the 
island  of  St.  Helena.  With  the  glare,  movement,  broad 
lights,  and  shewy  colours  of  the  former  still  in  my  eyes,  what 
repose  was  presented  in  this  melancholy  little  picture ! .  As  a 
mere  work  of  art,  it  shewed  that,  had  Gerard  devoted  him- 
self to  landscape  painting,  he  would  have  been  at  the  head  of 
his  school.  As  a  work  of  sentiment,  it  did  him  more  honour 
than  all  the  commanded  subjects,  which  imperial  liberality, 
or  royal  muniticence  ever  required  at  his  master's  hand.  The 
scene  is  curiously  supported  by  four  fine  figures,  represent- 
ing fame,  science,  history,  and  war.  They  are  celebrated 
for  the  beauty  of  the  drawing;  and  were  originally  painted 
for  a  ceiling  in  the  Tuileries,  of  which  the  centre  was  occu- 
pied  by  a  portrait  of  Napoleon.  On  the  restoration,  this  head 
was  defaced,  and  Gerard  has  transferred  the  figures,  to  up- 
hold the  tomb  of  the  superseded  hero. 

Near  this  melancholy  little  picture  still  hung  Gerard's  great 
work  of  the  battle  of  Austerlitz  ;  one  of  the  noblest  produc- 
tions of  the  modern  school.  It  is  full  of  admirable  and  cha- 
racteristic details.  The  moment  selected  is  that  in  which 
General  Rapp  rode  up  to  the  emperor  (himself  on  horseback, 
and  surrounded  by  his  brilliant  staff)  to  announce  to  him  that 
the  battle  was  decided,  and  the  glory  his.  The  joy  and  tri- 
umph of  the  news  flash  from  the  eye,  and  agitate  every  mus- 
cle in  the  soldierly  face  and  figure  of  the  brusque  Rapp.  The 
expressive  faces  of  Berthier,  Junot,  and  Bessieres,  who  are 
close  to  the  emperor,  contrast  by  their  strong  vitality,  with 
the  livid  hues  of  a  dead  soldier,  and  of  the  dying  officer, 
whose  countenance  in  the  last  agonies  of  death,  is  full  of  in- 
tellectual elevation.  All  are  now  reduced  to  the  same  level ;. 
men  of  the  times  and  of  necessity  !  while  of  their  brave  bands 
but  few  survive,  (the  disgrace  of  their  cast,  or  its  glory).. 
Among  the  latter,  it  is  gracious  to  all  the  milder  feelings  of 

*  On  my  return  home,  I  turned  to  the  Histoire  du  Sacre,  by  Moru. 
sieur  Alex.  Le  Noble,  where  I  found  the  full  value  of  the  painter's  de- 
cision, in  rejecting  a  ceremony  the  most  degrading  that  royally  ever 
submitted  to.  The  king  remains  kneeling  before  the  seated  priests,  fop, 
more  than  an  hour. — Seepage  593,  o/t/je  Hiitoire. 

17* 


198  SOCIETE  PHILOTECH:xrQtJE» 

h^imanity,  to  single  out  the  brave,  the  loyal,  the  high-minded 
Bei'rand. 

There  are,  perhpps,  but  three  modern  French  pictures 
comparable  in  any  way  to  this, — the  battles  of  Jaffa  and  of 
Aboukir,  by  Gros  ;  and  that  of  Jemappe,  by  Vernet. 

We  fo  >nd  the  Wednesday  evenings  of  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame ^^Gerard,  in  1829,  as  we  had  found  them  in  1810-18, 
among  the  most  delightful  assemblies  in  Paris,  and  attended 
by  all  the  eminent  talent  in  that  capital  of  European  arts  and 
intellect.  Asking  Gerard,  on  one  very  sultry  evening,  how 
he  could  leave  the  delightful  gardens  of  his  villa,  at  Auteuil, 
for  the  close  atmosphere  of  his  hotel  in  the  faubourg,  he  an- 
swered,  "  in  such  a  season  it  is  a  sacrifice,  but  a  sacrifice 
well  repaid.  For  thirty  years  my  friends  and  brother  artists, 
of  all  countricri,  have  found  me,  on  Wednesda)-  evenings, 
ready  to  receive  them  in  this  salon  ;  and,  should  I  live  thirty 
years  more,  as  long  au  healLh  and  means  are  spared,  here 
they  slall  still  find  me." 

It  is  a  charming  trait  among  a  hundred  others,  in  the  cha- 
racter of  Gerard  that  his  house  is  always  open  to  young  and 
rising  tjilenr.  There,  he  waits  not  for  the  world's  stamp  to 
acknowledge  tiie  claims  of  unpatronized  genius.  His  salon 
is  an  actdem'',  not  only  for  the  study  of  the  arts,  but  for  the 
acquirement  of  that  good  tone  of  manner,  that  quiet,  elegant, 
unobtrusive  air,  which  abashes  the  impudence  of  confident 
mediocrity,  when  the  example  is  offered  in  the  address  of  the 
first  artist  of  his  country. 


SOCIETE  PIIILOTECHNIQUE. 

FRi^'CH  women,  though  eloquent  talkers,  are  also  the  best 
listeners  in  the  world.  This  came  particularly  hoine  to  my 
observation  at  the  numerous  literary  and  scientific  associa- 
tions at  which  I  saw  ihsm  assembled.  To  me,  such  public 
sittings  are  mere  subjects  of  curiosity  ;  to  them  they  are 
.sources  of  a  deeper  interest.  I  went  to  see  what  sort  of 
things  buch  assemb'ies  are  ;  they  attend  to  seek  information, 
thro>!gh  a  medium  of  a'.l  others  to  me  the  most  tiresome. 

Having  received  an  invitation  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the 
Society  Philoieckiique,  held  in  one  of  the  great  rooms  of  the 


SOCIETE    PHILOTECIIMQt'E.  199 

Hotel  de  Ville,  I  was  a  good  deal  surprised  at  the  number  of 
chapeau  fieuris  which  I  saw  there  mingled  with  bald  heads, 
grey  hairs,  and  other  forms  symbolic  of  time  and  wisdom.  The 
assembly  was  remarkable  for  its  numbers,  and  for  the  diver- 
sity of  ages  of  which  it  was  composed.  At  the  upper  part  of 
a  vast  and  beautiful  hall,  was  erected  a  stage,  with  the  presi- 
dent's  chair  and  table,  desks  for  the  readers,  and  seats  on 
either  side  for  foreigners  and  the  more  distinguished  guests. 
The  body  of  the  hall  was  thronged  promiscuously.  The  pro- 
gram of  the  day's  business  is  curious,  as  shewing  the  possi- 
bility of  passing  a  Sunday  afternoon  innocently  and  instruc- 
tively, yet  cheerfully  and  elegantly  ;  and  in  a  manner  ahke 
exempt  from  ennui  or  from  dissipation.* 

Much  fatigue  on  the  preceding  day,  a  late  and  crowded 
assembly  on  the  preceding  evening,  had  incapacitated  me 
for  that  vivacious  attention  which  the  subjects  merited.  The 
•'  Rapport  sur  Jes  Iravaux  de  la  Socitie^'  had  no  rapport  with 

*  Societe  Philotechnique. 

Seance  publique  du  dimanchc  31  Mai  1829. 

Presidence  de  M.  Bertin. 

ORDRE  DES  LECTURES  : 

1.  M.  L6on  Thiesse,  Sec.  vjri'joi?:/.    .     .     .     Rapport  sur  les  Travaux  de 

la  Societe. 

2.  M.  Bignan Fragment  d'un  Pogme  sur 

les  Femmes  Fran^aises. 

3.  M.  Anatole  de  Montesquiou  ....     Fables. 

4.  M.  Alexandre  Lenoir Melanges    sur    David,  ex- 

traits  d'un  mor^eau  sur 
la  derniere  epoque  de  la 
Restauration  des  Arts 
en  France. 

5.  M.  Gohier Introduction   au  l*"""   chant 

du  Poeme  des  Q,uatre 
Ages  de  I'Homme,  a- 
dressee  a  la  Societe 
Philotechnique. 

6.  M.  Michaux  (Clevis) Le  Po6te,  Stances. 

7.  M.  De  Montrol Essai  sur  Cl6nnent  Marot. 

MUSIQUE. 

1.  Airs  sufdois  arranges  et  varies  pour  violoncelle,  avec  accompagne- 

raent  de  piano,  executes  par  Madame  Decaen  etM.  Baudiot. 

2.  Nocturnes  composees  et  chanties  par  M.  Romagntsi. 

3.  Polonaise  pour  le  piano,  compose  execulee  par  M.  Sowinski. 

4.  Romances  composees  et  chanlees  par  M.  Romagnesi, 

6.  Tiio  sur  des  motifs  de  Rossini,  compose  pour  hautbois,  violoncelle, 
et  piano,  par  VIM.  Vogl  et  Baudiot,  et  execute  par  Madame  Deca- 
en et  les  Auteurs. 


200  SOCIETE   PHILOTECHNIQUE. 

my  previous  associations  ; — "  les  femmes  Francaises"  never 
appeared  to  me  less  piquantes  ; — the  "  extracts  on  the  resto- 
ration of  the  arts"  found  me  trying  to  keep  my  eyes  open 
on  a  great  picture,  with  the  figure  of  a  Paillasse  in  the  fore- 
ground, which  turned  out  to  be  King  Charles  the  Tenth,  (for 
this  was  another  picture  of  the  Sucre,  by  a  prol^g^  of  the 
minister  Monsieur  Corbieres)  ;'^ — and  "  Les  quatre  ages  de 
Vhomine'''  put  me,  or  found  me,  fast  asleep.  I  know  not  what 
was  the  mystic  word,  or  name,  or  sound,  that  caught  some 
still  wakeful  organ,  but  I  found  myself  suddenly  roused  to  in- 
terest and  attention  by  a  prose  recitation.  It  was  a  fragment 
of  the  life  of  Clement  Marot.  There  was  a  freshness  in  the 
theme,  and  a  vigour  in  the  style  of  treating  it,  which  came 
home  at  once  to  the  feelings  ;  and  I  attended  to  the  whole 
article  without  once  closing  an  eyelid,  perpetrating  a  yawn, 
or  casting  an  abstracted  glance  on  the  inappreciable  repre- 
sentation of  Paillasse  in  the  royal  character  of  Charles  the 
Tenth. 

.  When  the  sitting  was  over,  and  while  the  musical  instruments 
were  tuning,  we  adjourned  with  the  principal  gentlemen  of  the 
society  to  another  room,  where  open  windows  and  a  free  space 
to  move  in, roused  our  spirits  and  rewarded  our  patience.  Here 
we  found  our  old  acquaintance  Pigault  Le  Brun.  I  expressed  a 
wish  that  he  would  soon  make  the  dull  world  laugh  once  more. 
He  replied  with  a  sigh,  "  At  seventy-five  years  of  age,  we 
neither  laugh  ourselves,  nor  make  others  laugh.  And  yet," 
he  continued,  "  I  remember  laughing  very  heartily  during 
the  whole  rapid  composition  of  my  novel  ofVerifant  du  Car- 
nival ;  because  it  was  a  vivid  sketch  of  many  of  my  town's- 
fellows  of  Calais,  who,  I  was  aware,  would  recognize  them- 
selves.    The  fault  I  find  with  Walter  Scott  is,  that  he  neither 

*  The  ministerial  pRmpering  of  the  fine  arts,  so  often  called  for  by 
English  writers,  is  the  source  of  infinite  mischief  in  France.  Each 
funciionary,  intent  only  on  availing  himself  of  present  opportunity  to 
serve  his  own  friends,  calls  upon  them  to  produce  and  to  exhibit,  with- 
out reference  to  their  talents  and  acquirements.  Paris  teems  with  the 
abortive  attempts  of  young  men  of  unquestioned  ability,  thus  pushed 
forward  to  engage  in  undertakings  above  their  strength.  The  picture  of 
the  Sacre^  here  alluded  to,  is  a  case  in  point.  It  is  not  without  merit; 
but  the  composition  of  a  great  historical  picture  requires  a  mature  judg- 
ment, as  its  execution  demands  a  deeper  insight  into  effects  than  youth- 
ful inexperience  can  afford.  Yet,  what  degree  of  self-denial  would  be 
sufficient  to  prevail  on  a  struggling,  and  perhaps  needy  student,  to  re- 
fuse an  order,  as  serviceable  to  his  present  necessities,  as  flattering  to  bii, 
amour  profre. 


SOCIETE  PHILOTECHNIQUE.  201 

makes  me  laugh  nor  cry  enough.*  His  heroes,  too,  are  poor 
creatures.  The  whole  is  fine  scene  painting  :  but  Fielding  ! 
— I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  speak  of  him.  It  is  not  adju- 
ration ;  it  is  idolatry  that  I  feel  for  Fielding," 

Upon  this,  as  upon  other  occasions,  I  observed  that  a  flash 
of  spirit  was  followed  in  Le  Brun  by  a  sort  of  melancholy 
abstraction  :  and  I  afterwards  learned  that  the  ,  persecutions 
he  had  suffered  from  the  government  had  made  a  considerable 
alteration  in  his  naturally  gay  disposition. 

Monsieur  Gohier,  who  had  been  secretary  to  the  Directory, 
Monsieur  Jullien  de  Paris,  and  other  members  of  the  so- 
ciety, joined  us,  and  asked  my  opinion  of  the  literary  pro- 
ductions of  the  sitting, — a  delicate  point,  which  I  got  over 
as  well  as  I  could,  by  saying  tliat  the  opinion  of  the  critic 
was  not  alwa5^s  a  proof  of  the  merit  of  the  work  ;  but  that  if 
I  had  the  choice  of  the  subjects  I  had  heard,  to  take  home 
and  read  a  t^le  reposee,  it  should  be  the  charming  fragment 
of  Clement  Marot.  A  young  man,  who  was  outside  the  cir- 
cle, came  modestly  forward,  and  in  the  customary  phrase  of 
Frepch  gallantry,  begged  permission  to  "  lay  the  manuscript 
at  my  feet."  I  accepted  the  ofTer  with  gratitude  ;  and  it  has 
proved  the  foundation  of  a  most  agreeable  acquaintance. 
Among  the  most  serviceable  and  friendly  of  la  jfunesse  de 
France  with  whom  I  was  brought  into  contact  in  1829, 1  have 
the  pleasure  of  numbering  the  clever  author  of  "  Clement 
Marot.  "t 

The  first  sounds  in  the  orchestra  brought  us  back  to  our 
places.  As  we  listened  to  the  delightful  voices  and  elegant 
compositionsof  Monsieur  and  Madame  Romagnese,  I  remem- 
bered my  own  musical  soirees  in  the  Rue  de  Helder  in  1818, 
which  so  frequently  owed  much  of  their  charm  to  the  musical 
talent  of  the  former.  The  hautbois  playing  of  Monsieur 
Vogt,  which  I  now  heard  for  the  first  time,  is  perhaps  the 
finest  in  the  world,  though  many  performers  have  acquired  a 
deserved  celebrity  upon  this  simple  but  most  effective  in- 
strument, in  a  well  constituted  band. 

*  This  is  perhaps  generally  true  :  but  Walter  Scott  has  pathos  at 
least,  and  of  the  truest  and  deepest  kind.  Who  has  not  wept  over  the 
last  volume  of  Waverley,  and  the  trial  of  Effie  Deane  ?  With  a  muse 
of  less  facundity,  this  great  and  prolific  writer  might  certainly  have  in- 
fused a  deeper  moral  inlerest  into  his  romances,  than  for  the  most  part 
he  has  thought  necessary  to  bestow  on  them  ; — that  is,  if  it  had  suited 
his  purpose  to  do  so. 

tThe  biographical  sketch  of  Clement  Marot,  is  an  episode  in  the  life 
of  Rabelais,  upon  which  Monsieur  de  Montrol  is  at  present  employed. 


202  SOCIETE  PHILOTEClINiaUE. 

Such  public  meetings  as  those  of  the  Societe  Philotech- 
nique  are  frequent  in  Paris.*  Their  defect  is  that  lliey  pre- 
sent too  ready  a  market  for  the  exhibition  of  mediocrity,  and 
accord  too  easily  ithat  prompt  and  tangible  little  triumph, 
which  draws  oft"  useful  abilities  from  more  serviceable  la- 
hours.  But  this  defect  is  more  than  overbalanced  by  the 
service  they  render  to  society  at  large,  in  diffusing  a  taste 
for  literature  and  the  arts,  and  in  bringing  together  persons 
of  congenial  tastes  and  talents.  An  universal  communion 
is  thus  opened,  through  a  medium  the  most  civilizing  ;  the 
women  find  the  account  even  of  their  vanity,  in  giving  their 
attention  to  subjects,  which  draw  them  off"  from  personal 
gossip,  and  from  the  eternal  petty  details  that  weaken  intel- 
lect, and  embitter  the  intercourse  of  domestic  life. 

When  the  sitting  was  broken  up,  it  was  proposed  to  us  to 
visit  the  whole  of  the  K-jtel  de  Ville,  the  scene  of  many  of  the 
most  tragic  events  of  the  great  historic  drama  of  France.  As 
an  edifice  marked  by  le  cachet  du  terns,  there  are  few  build- 
ings in  Paris  better  Avorth  examination.  It  was  begun  in  the 
reign  of  Francis  the  First,  and  the  fine  gothic  hall,  with  its 
pendant  roof,  is  most  probably  of  that  time  ;  for  it  differs  es- 
sentially from  the  rest  of  the  edifice,  which  was  raised  on  the 
designs  of  Cortona,  brought  from  Italy  by  Henry  the  Second. 
The  whole  was  not  completed  till  the  reign  of  Henry  the 
Fourth ;  whose  statue  on  horseback,  in  basso  relievo,  occu- 
pies the  tympanum,  over  the  great  door  of  the  principal  en- 
trance. This  statue,  erected  in  the  midst  of  his  glory — torn 
down  during  the  wars  of  the  Fronde — restored  and  replaced 

*  "  L'esprit  d'association  et  un  desir  vivement  senti  de  contribuer  k 
ravancement  des  sciences  et  k  la  prospeiite  generale,  ont  multipli^  en 
France,  depuis  la  revolution,  et  surtout  depuis  le  retour  de  la  pais,  un 
grand  nombre  de  reunions  libres,  dont  plusieurs  ont  drj^  rendu  des  ser- 
vices importans  a  la  chose  pnblique.  II  siiffit  de  nommer  ici  la  SociSlS 
d' encouragement  pour  V Industrie  vaiionalc,  la  Soci6l6  royale  et  centrale 
d' Agriculture,  la  Sociele  des  Aniiquaires  de  France,  la  Societe  pour  Vami- 
linrntion  de  I' Enseigneme7il  ilimentaire,  la  Societe  des  Methodes,  la  SociHe 
de  la  Morale  Clir6tienne,  la  SocieU  pour  V amelioraiion  des  Prisons,  les 
Societes  Fhilotechnique,  Philomatique,  Piiilanlrnpique,  Asiatique,  de  Gio- 
graphic,  des  Sciences  Natureltes,  de  M6decine,  d' Horticulture,  Athin6e  des 
Jlrts,  &c, 

"  Chacune  de  ces  Societes,  dans  la  sphere  de  ses  attributions,  donne 
une  impulsion  salutaire  et  une  direction  mieux  entendue  aux  travaux  de 
ses  membres,  et  entretient,  dans  nos  departernens  et  dans  les  pays 
ctrangers,  des  relations  avec  des  hommes  instruits  et  zdl^s,  que  leur  in- 
solement  laisserait  dans  I'impuissance  de  faire  le  bien,  et  qui,  par  la  coia- 
binaison  de  leurs  efforts  individuels  dirigcs  vers  un  but  commun,  con-. 
Iribuent  A  produire  de  bons  r^sultats." — Revue  Encyclopedique. 


SOCIETE   PHILOTECHNIQUE.  203 

Wider  Louis  the  Fourteenth — agaui  torn  down  during  the  re- 
volution, was  replaced  in  the  year  1815.  What  is  to  be  its 
future  fate,  reste  a  savoir. 

A  flight  of  interminable  steps  leads  to  the  interior  of  the 
building,  and  terminates  in  a  gloomy  court  decorated  with  ar- 
cades, once  covered  with  inscriptions  to  the  honour  of  Louis 
the  Fourteenth,  but  now  defaced  by  time  or  by  contempt. 
Under  one  of  these  arcades  stood  a  great  pedestrian  statue  of 
that  heau  ideal  of  a  despot.  Removed,  but  not  demolished, 
at  the  revolution,  it  found  its  way  to  the  Magazin  du  Roule, 
where  it  underwent  some  very  unceremonious  mutilations  ; 
and  where  it  remained  some  thirty  years,  forgotten  or  ne- 
glected. On  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  however,  it  was 
brought  to  light,  furbished  up,  and  replaced  in  its  old  niche. 

As  it  now  stands,  it  is  "  d  mourir  de  rire"  a  monument  of  the 
state  of  the  arts  in  the  Augustan  age  of  France.  Louis  the 
Fourteenth,  here,  figures  not  as  a  French  Apollo,  but  as  a 
French  Mars — cuirassed  and  armed  a  la  Greque,  with  an  head- 
dress like  Justice  Midas,  a  full,  flowing  wig  of  immense  vo- 
lume and  enormous  redundancy  of  tress  and  curl,  such  as  he 
wore  in  1689.  Between  his  coiffure  and  the  rest  of  his  cos- 
tume there  is  only  the  trifling  anachronism  of  some  two  or 
three  thousand  years ;  and  this  in  the  days  of  the  Le  Bruns 
and  the  Poussins  ! 

The  apartments,  dedicated  to  the  service  of  the  governors 
of  the  Hotel,  are  numerous  and  spacious,  but  dark,  gloomy, 
and  cumbrous  to  a  most  depressing  degree.  Still,  every  thing, 
there,  is  curious,  interesting,  and  connected  with  strange  and 
terrible  events.  In  the  Salle  de  Trone,  two  fine  old  chimney 
pieces  remain,  just  as  they  were  erected  in  the  time  of  Henry 
the  Fourth,  whose  monuments,  like  his  fame,  triumph  over  all 
that  preceded  them.  Two  full-length  portraits  of  Louis  the 
Fifteenth  and  Eighteenth  now  occupy  the  walls,  which  once 
were  covered  with  pictures  of  royal  births  and  marriages,  that 
have  disappeared  during  the  revolution.  Of  these  works,  by 
Porbus,  Rigaud,  Louis  de  Boulogne,  L'Argilliere,  Vien,  and 
other  forgotten  artists  of  the  worst  ages  of  French  art,  not  a 
trace  remains.  It  was  in  this  roonl,  I  think,  that  I  remarked 
a  picture  of  Henry  the  Fourth  receiving  the  keys  of  Paris 
from  its  chief  magistrate.  There  was  also  a  small  equestrian 
statue  of  the  same  king — a  copy  of  that  on  the  Pont  Neuf.  It 
was  placed  there  in  1819,  when  nothing  was  neglected  that 
could  awaken  a  feeling  for  the  royal  family,  through  busts, 
statues,  and  pictures ;  a  more  effectual  and  direct  road  might 


204  SOCIETK    PHILOTECHNIClUEi 

have  been  discovered ;  but  the  popularity  of  Henry  the  Fourth 
still  remains  the  sole  claim  of  his  great  grandchildren  to  the 
favour  of  their  subjects. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  ancient  seat  of  the  Pr^vSts  des  Mar- 
cJiands,  was  afterwards  given  to  the  Prevots  de  Paris  ;  and  is 
now  devoted  also  to  the  administration  of  the  Prefecture  of  the 
Seine.  It  has  for  ages  been  the  site  of  important  political 
events,  and  of  civic  and  royal  festivities.  Here  the  city  of 
Paris  entertained  her  kings,  her  consuls,  and  her  emperor. 
Here  the  republic  held  its  most  momentous  consultations,  and 
here  were  enacted  some  of  the  most  tragic  scenes  of  the  re* 
volution.  Every  room  has  witnessed  a  fete  or  a  tragedy  ; 
and  the  very  threshold  has  been  stained  with  the  blood  of 
French  citizens.  On  one  side  is  the  gorgeous  salon,  where 
the  modern  Charlemagne  and  his  imperial  bride  were  feasted 
and  flattered  :  on  the  other  is  that  gloomy  turret,  with  its  high 
and  horrid  casement,  out  of  which  Robespierre  flung  himself 
into  the  court  beneath. 

Standing  on  the  melancholy  Place  de  Greve,  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  with  its  gothic  architecture,  its  imposing  height,  its 
gloomy  courts,  and  splendid  halls,  is  one  of  the  most  interest, 
ing  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  melancholy  of  the  histori- 
cal edifices  of  Paris.  The  monument  of  many  changes,  the 
memorial  of  many  crimes,  its  annals  would  afford  a  fearful 
commentary  on  the  evils  of  despotism  in  the  government, 
and  of  ignorance  among  the  people.  In  its  connexion  with 
the  revolution,  too,  it  has  given  some  lessons  to  royalty,  by 
which  it  will  be  wise  in  the  kings  of  Europe  to  profit.  It  has 
taught  them  the  power  of  the  people,  when  goaded  by  op- 
pression ;  it  has  taught  them  that  there  lurks  in  the  bosoms 
of  the  most  crouching  of  slaves  a  germ  of  patriotism  and  of 
energy,  which  a  moment  may  develope,  to  the  destruction  of 
the  oppressor  ;  and  it  proves  to  those,  susceptible  of  any  de- 
monstration, that  if  the  ways  of  tyranny  be  sometimes  ways 
of  pleasantness,  all  its  paths  are  not  paths  of  peace* 


1265] 


BERANGER.— VISIT  TO  LA  FORCE. 

"II  n'exista  jamais,  il  ne  peut  jamais  exister  en  France 
jusqu'a  nos  jours,  un  p'oete  aussi  populaire  que  Beranger : 
c'est  a  dire  un  pbete  en  rapport  entiere,  en  harmonie  par- 
faite,  avec  les  sentimens,  les  besoins,  et  les  vceux  d'une 
grande  nation." 

This  species  of  cotemporary  eulogium,  the  proudest  re- 
sult of  eminent  genius,  and  its  highest  recompence,  needs  no 
confirmation  from  posterity.  The  contempt  which  withered 
the  wreath  of  Dryden,  and  bhisted  the  fame  of  Waller,  can 
never  shadow  the  glory  of  him,  whose  talents  are  directed  to 
the  honest  purposes  of  patriotism,  and  to  the  furtherance  of 
the  canse  of  liberty.  Different  generations  may  make  vari- 
OHs  estimates  of  mere  literary  excellence  ;  but  the  genius 
which  benefits  mankind  is  of  all  ages  ;  and  the  line  which  has 
once  awakened  the  enthusiasm  of  a  generous  people  and 
found  an  echo  in  the  bosom  of  free  men,  will  survive  all  revo- 
lutions of  taste,  as  immortal  as  the  principle  it  illustrates. 
"The  songs  of  Beranger,"  says  a  cotemporary  critic,  "  are 
conversations  with  France  ;"  and  the  expression  is  eminent- 
ly just.  Coteries  may  have  their  Trissotins,  and  boudoirs 
their  Sapphos ;  but  thought  and  originality,  a  great  feeling 
to  rouse,  or  a  great  truth  to  tell,  will,  now,  alone  answer  the 
intellectual  wants,  and  secure  the  permanent  attention  of  the 
European  public, — above  all,  of  its  quintessential  represen- 
tatives, the  people  of  France.  Academies  and  corporations, 
sages  by  act  of  parliament,  and  wits  de  par  le  roi,  may  still 
be  satisfied  with  their  La  Harpes  and  Delilles ;  but  the 
world  of  mind  and  passion  must  have  its  Byrons  and  its  Be- 
rangers. 

The  two  poets  thus  coupled  in  a  sentence  by  their  com- 
mon popularity,  are,  in  all  their  private  and  personal  rela- 
tions,  at  the  opposite  extremes  of  the  scale  of  life.  Every 
one  knows  the  ancient  descent  and  noble  blood  of  the  Bri- 
tish bard  ;  and  no  where  in  the  world  could  such  accidental 
advantages  have  been  more  prized  than  in  the  country  of 
his  birth,  the  last  strong  hold  of  aristocratic  prejudice.  But 
Beranger,  with  no  such  claims  on   adscititious  renown,  be- 

Voi.  I.— 18 


^06  BERANGER. 

hefits  equally  by  the  opinions  of  the  people,  among  whom 
his  lot  is  cast.  In  a  firm  reliance  upon  that  national  senti- 
ment which  now,  in  France,  values  a  man  for  what  he  is, 
and  not  for  what  his  forefathers  may  have  been,  he  has  be- 
come the  frank  genealogist  of  his  own  humble  birth,  and 
thus  describes  it : 

"  Dans  ce  Paris,  plein  d'or  et  de  misere, 
En  I'an  du  Clirist  mil  sept  cent  quatre  vingt, 
Chez  un  tailleur,  mon  pauvre  et  vieux  giand-pere, 
Moi,  iiouveau  ne,  sachez  ce  qui  m'advint."* 

In  observing  that  Beranger  is  the  poet  of  his  age  and 
country,  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  he  is  a  liberal ;  and  a 
liberal  of  so  frank  and  uncompromising,  so  indiscreet  a  cha- 
racter, that,  since  the  restoration, 

"  Certains  gens  qui  pardonnent  trop  peu,"+ 

have  pertinaciously  marked  him  out  for  a  species  of  politi- 
cal persecution,  which  has  tended  to  the  literary  advantage 
of  the  victim.  It  has  quadrupled  the  sale  of  his  works,  and 
awakened  a  personal  interest  for  the  man,  independent  of 
the  splendid  reputation  of  the  writer.  In  the  early  epoch  of 
the  "  return  of  social  order,"  Beranger  was  prosecuted  by 
the  government  for  the  publication  of  a  collection,  in  which 
there  were  more  witty  truths,  than  poetical  fictions.  He  was 
tried,  condemned,  and  incarcerated  in  St.  Pelagic  ;:}:  and  was 
deprived  of  a  small  literary  place  which  he  had  held  with 
credit  for  more  than  twelve  years.  An  event  so  appalling 
served  but  as  a  stronger  excitement  to  resist  the  tyranny  to 
which  he  was  subjected  ;  and  in  the  dens  of  St.  Pelagic  he 
produced  some  of  his  freest  couplets,  and  boldest  opinions. 
His  captivity  and  persecution  for  "  liberty's  dear  sake,"  drew 


t  "  Certain  persons,  not  too  apt  to  forgive." 
t  M.  de  la  Borde,  spe:iking   of  this  prison,  observes,  that   its  apartf 
ents,  liijhied  l>y  air-holHS  in  (lie  roof,  have  no  fire-places, — that  the/ 
e  subject  to  every  extreme  of  temperature. 


VISIT  TO  LA  FOUCE.  207 

the  attention  of  all  France  to  the  poet,  and  to  his  works  ;  and 
testimonies  of  respect  and  admiration,  under  a  variety  of 
gracious  forms,  came  to  cheer  his  prison,  and  to  compr  isate 
for  his  sufferings.  His  second  condemnation  on  a  govern- 
ment prosecution,  and  his  imprisonment  ia  La  Force,  (in 
182U,)  proves  that  his  country  has  lost  nothing  of  her  inte- 
rest  in  his  fate.  "  France,"  says  one  of  the  public  prints  of 
the  day,  "  laments  for  Beranger,  and  freely  would  bestow 
on  him  the  consolations  of  the  heart,  the  onl}'  consolations 
of  which  such  a  character  stands  in  need." 

We  had  made  tlie  acquaintance  of  this  celebrated  writer 
and  honest  man  in  1818;  when  we  left  him,  the  centre  of 
many  brilliant  circles,  and  the  subject  of  much  devoted  tViend- 
ship.  We  found  him,  on  our  return  in  1820,  a  prisoner  in 
La  Force.  This  was  an  additional  reason  for  wishing  to  re- 
new our  acquaintance  ;  and  a  message,  through  mutual 
friends,  from  Monsieur  de  Beranger,  expressive  of  his  wish 
to  receive  our  visit,  increased  our  desire  to  make  it.  We 
were  mformed,  however,  that  to  effect  our  purpose,  certain 
preliminaries  were  necessary  ;  and  that  to  obtain  an  inter- 
view with  a  prisoner  in  La  Force,  we  must  present  ourselves 
at  the  prefecture  of  police,  to  undergo  certain  forms  and  exa- 
minations which  were  indispensable.  We  set  off,  therefore, 
to  the  prefecture,  accompanied  by  two  distinguished  and  in- 
timate friends  of  the  prisoner, — David,  the  sculptor,  and  Du- 
mas, the  author  of  "  Henri  IH,"  A  more  appropriate  socie- 
ty for  such  a  visit  could  not  have  been  chosen.  Genius  and 
friendship  were  fit  qualifications  to  approach  the  prison  of 
the  poet  of  liberty  and  of  France. 

There  was,  in  the  course  we  had  to  take,  in  order  to  see 
Beranger,  an  interest,  distinct  from  that  which  he  himself 
excited.  All  our  acquaintance  with  Parisian  sites,  however 
historical,  had  hitherto  been  hallowed  by  intellectual  asso- 
ciations, by  the  glow  and  lustre  of  the  imagination.  Even 
the  Palais  de  Justice,  with  its  many  horrible  recollections  of 
the  worst  of  times,  was  seen  through  the  medium  of  the  passed, 
and  with  reference  to  the  improvements  of  the  present.  But 
of  the  prisons  of  modern  France,  those  haunts  of  crime  and 
misfortune,  we  knew  nothing  but  the  names.  We  knew  that 
in  feudal  times,  the  superiors  of  a  religious  order  had  a  right 
to  maintain  a  prison  in  their  monasteries  :*  we   had  read  of 

•  The  Abbaye,  so  horribly  celebrated  in  the  annals  of  the  reign  of 
terror,  was  the  prison  of  the  Abbot  of  St.  Germain.     The  dungeons  of 


208  BEKANGER. 

• 

"  oubliettes,''''  "  vade  in  pace"  and  iron  cagefs,  (all  im- 
plements of  tyranny  in  full  employment,  from  the  reign  of 
Louis  the  Eleventh,  to  that  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth) — of  the 
antiquated  terrors  of  the  Rastile,  Vincennes,  the  Temple,  the 
Conciergerie,  la  tour  de  Montgomerie,  the  Grand,  and  the 
Petit  Chatelet,  and  many  others  ;  but  of  the  actual  condition 
of  such  abodes  of  sutlering  we  knew  nothing,  except  that 
some  of  them  had  been  abolished  at  the  revolution. 

Napoleon,  who  in  his  last  years  hurried  on  the  fate  of 
France  and  his  own,  by  every  species  of  error,  which  a  re- 
turn to  the  old  regime  could  originate,  created,  in  1810, 
eight  illegal  places  of  confinement,  by  the  title  of  prisons 
d'etat ;  while  in  the  legal  prisons  he  made  scarcely  any  ame- 
lioration. This  was  one  of  the  dark  points  in  his  administra- 
tion, arising  from  a  want  of  that  sympathy  with  his  species, 
which,  when  present,  is  the  source  of  much  of  the  sagacity 
and  wisdom  of  legislators  and  statesmen  :  for  he  who  feels 
for  man,  provides  for  his  infirmities  and  misfortunes.  Na- 
poleon was  intent  only  on  providing  for  the  exigencies  of  the 
state. 

Our  first  visit  to  a  French  state  prison  was  not  made  un- 
moved ;  and  curiosity  and  compassion  entered  largely  inta 
the  feelings  with  which  we  sought  a  site,  which  though  ren- 
dered interesting  by  the  sufTerings  of  one  man  of  eminent 
genius  and  virtues,  had  still  stronger  claims,  perhaps,  on 
mere  reason,  on  the  score  of  general  humanity. 

The  prefecture  of  police  is  not  only  an  office  for  the  ad- 
ministration of  all  matters  that  come  under  the  cognizance  of 
that  department,  but  also  a  municipal  prison.  It  is  a  vast 
and  gloomy  edifice,  lying  in  the  old  quarter  of  Paris,  called 
L^Isle  de  la  cite,  and  in  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem,  an  avenue, 
probably,  as  old  as  the  crusades.  It  surrounds  a  large  court, 
and  its  walls  are  curiously  painted  in  fresco,  with  the  por- 
traits of  eminent  men  of  old  France.  Defaced  and  fad- 
ed as  they  are,  the  lineaments  of  the  famous  Constable  de 
Bourbon,  De  Guesclin,  and  others,  are  still  cognizable. 

We  proceeded  to  the  Bureau  de  Police,  through  a  little 
wicket,  where  a  porter,  on  learning  we  had  business  there,  sent 
us  forward,  under  the  guardianship  of  one  of  the  familiars  of 
the  office.     On  entering  a   dark,  close  room,   smelling  of 

this  monastic  jail  are  horrible.  A  prisoner  cannot  stand  up  in  them,  or 
long  survive  iii  this  unwholesome  atmosphere.  Th.ey  are  no  longer  ic 
use. 


VISIT  TO  I-A  FORCE.  209 

musty  papers,  a  very  glum-looking  man,  in  a  black  cap,  sat 
writing  at  a  high  desk.  After  a  few  moments  silence  and 
pre-oCcupation,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  addressing  our  con- 
ductors, (for  I  went  for  nothing,)  asked  "  Que  veulent  ces^ 
Messieurs  ?" — "  They  wish  to  see  Monsieur  Beranger,  pri- 
soner  in  La  Force,"  was  the  reply.  "  Pass,  if  you  please," 
he  said  ;  and  we  passed  into  another  chamber,  within  the 
first,  where  another  officer,  of  superior  rank,  was  seated  in  the 
like  manner,  and  proposed  the  same  questions.  We  were  then 
asked  to  shew  our  passports,  and  our  friends  to  produce  the 
"  permit,"  which  they  had  already  obtained,  for  visiting  Be- 
ranger, and  which  it  was  necessary  to  renew.  We  were  here 
civilly  asked  to  be  seated,  and  chairs  were  brought  forward  for 
our  accommodation,  while  the  necessary  forms  were  fulfilled. 
It  was  in  this  silent  interval,  that  I  ventured  to  throw  my  eyes 
around,  and  examine  this  outwork  of  the  state  prisons.  The 
walls  were  built  up  on  all  sides  with  boxes,  on  ranges  of 
shelves,  each  marked  by  a  label,  containing  the  name  of  the 
prison  to  which  its  contents  related.  I  read,  successively, 
"  Bicitre,"  "  La  Force,''  "  But  de  la  Mairet,"  &c.  &c.  &;c.  ; 
when  my  fearful  study  was  interrupted  by  our  inquisitor,  who 
filled  up  our  permit  with  my  husband's  personal  traits,  pro- 
fession, age,  country,  &c.,  and  then  passed  us  into  another 
apartment,  where  the  document  was  counter-signed  by  ano- 
ther officer  ;  we  were  then  conducted  back  to  the  hatch,  and 
proceeded  on  the  way  to  our  destination. 

Every  step  to  La  Force  seemed  appropriate.  We  passed 
the  Palais  de  Justice,  the  Place  de  Greve,  and  that  fearfully 
celebrated  lamp-post,  where  so  many  executions  were  per- 
petrated, on  that  short  and  summary  sentence,  "  d  la  Ian- 
tepie."  "  Verrez-vous plus  clair  ?"*  replied  one  of  the  victims, 
as  he  tranquilly  obeyed  the  horrible  command.  The  en- 
trance into  the  Hdfel  de  la  Force  is  in  a  narrow,  old  street,, 
called  "  Du  Roi  de  Sicile."  It  is  divided  into  two  distinct 
prisons,  which  stand  contiguous,  but  without  commanication  ;, 
the  one,  la  grande,  the  other,  la  petit  Force.  They  derive 
their  very  appropriate  name  from  their  standing  on  the  site 
of  the  old  Hotel  de  la  Force,  which  existed  in  the  thirteenth, 
centHry  ;  and  which  having  been  the  palace  of  Charles,  king 
of  Naples,  brother  to  Saint  Louis,  became  the  property  of 
the  Due  de  la  Force,  whose  descendant,  with  his  sons,  pe- 
ztshed  in  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.     On  part  of  the 

"  "  And  if  1  am  hanged  to  the  lantern,  will  you  see  the  better  for  it  V' 

18* 


210  BERAN€tER. 

site  of  this  vast  edifice,  was  also  raised  the  Hotel  de  Brienne, 
The  government,  in  1754,  bought  both  ;  but  it  was  not  tilJ 
the  ministry  of  Monsieur  Necker,  that  this  domestic  fortress 
of  kings  and  feudatories  was  converted  into  the  most  exten- 
sive prison  of  the  kingdom. 

We  arrived  before  a  gate,  and  passing  the  lodge  of  the 
porter  or  guicheiier,  (which  was  occupied  by  some  despond- 
ing looking  creatures,  who  waited  for  admission  to  the  pri- 
soners,)  we  were,  on  producing  our  order,  at  once  conducted 
by  a  turnkey,  armed  with  a  tremendous  bunch  of  kej's, 
through  a  long  narrow  riteTle  or  passage,  on  either  side  guard- 
ed  by  high  dark  walls.  This  led  to  what  is  called  the  new 
building,  Avhere  prisoners  are  lodged,  who  in  the  "  argot,"  oi' 
cant  language  of  tlie  place,  are  able  to  '■'■prendre  la  p'istole," 
or  pay  for  their  accommodation.  It  is  situated  between  two 
courts,  planted  with  trees  ;  and  is  constructed  of  hewn  stones, 
clasped  with  iron.  It  consists  of  four  vaulted  floors,  with 
grated  casements  ;  and  beneath  them  are  those  dark,  damp 
dungeons,  reserved  for  prisoners)  whose  attempted  evasions 
are  suspected.*  Escaping  from  the  close  passages,  which 
lead  to  the  first  of  these  courts,  (where,  at  a  second  lodge, 
we  left  our  permits,)  I  was  struck  by  its  comparatively  at- 
tractive  appearance.  The  trees  in  full  verdure,  and  small 
beds  of  flowers,  contrasted  strangely  with  the  surrounding 
fearful  buildings,  and  the  terrible  visages  which  gleamed 
through  the  unsashed  and  grated  windows.  '^I'hey  were  all 
crowded  with  prisoners ;  some  of  whom  were  playing  cards, 
some  mending  their  clothes,  and  almost  all  boisterous  and 
laughing — the  frightful  mirth  of  hardened  crime  and  ruth- 
less  despair.  Here  and  there,  a  pale  haggard  face  was  si- 
lently pressed  against  the  iron  bars,  marked  with  disease,  and 
with  that  suffering  which  quells  alike  the  brutal  gaiety  of  the 
wicked,  and  the  sweet  cheerfulness  of  the  innocent.  This 
court  was,  I  think,  called  "  La  Cour  de  Charlemagne  :"  the 

•  "  A  la  grande  Force  sont  encombres  dans  une  salle  basse,  tenant 
lieu  de  chauflFoir,  150  ou  200  malheureus,  la  plus  part  sans  bas,  sans  sou- 
liers,  converts  de  haillons,  ne  recevant  pour  nourriture  que  de  pain  et 
de  I'eau,  et  un  cuilleree  de  soupe  d  la  Rumfort,  appelee  comraunement 
pitarice  d'oisifs.  II  en  est  k  peu  pres  de  mdme  du  iroisi^me  corps  de 
logis,  du  b&timent  neuf,  ou  sont  200  detenus,  qu'on  entasse  la  nuit  soix- 
ante  ensemble,  sur  un  lit  de  bois,  sur  des  paillasses  puantes,  et  dans  des 
salles  qui  n'ont  pas  et6  blanchies  depuis  qu'elles  existent,  I'administra* 
tion  au  lieu  de  r6parer  leur  triste  demeure,  el^ve  devant  eux  (1816-18) 
des  chapelles  somptueuses." — Mem.  sur  lea  Prisons, par  M,,  Alexandre.dk 
la  BortU. 


VISIT  TO  LA  FORCE.  211 

next  was  that  of  St.  Louis.  Another  parterre  here  present- 
ed itself,  all  bloom  and  sunshine  ;  and  yet  I  thought  the  flow- 
ers  and  the  sun  rather  heightened  than  relieved  the  sadness 
of  the  scene.  After  passing  another  hall,  we  were  conduct, 
ed  up  a  narrow  stone  staircase,  at  the  top  of  which  was  the 
prison-room  of  De  Beranger. 

Monsieur  de  Beranger  had  expected  us  ;  and  received  us 
with  all  the  gay  cordiality  which  had  characterised  him,  when 
we  tirst  met  in  the  salon  of  the  "  Hermite  de  la  Chausst^e 
d'Antin."  We  found  him  in  society  vv'ith  the  author  of"  Cla- 
ra Gazul,''  and  a  lady.  It  required  a  moment  to  recover  the 
impressions  which  had  preceded  our  arrival  at  his  chamber, 
— a  small  but  neat  room,  furnished  with  some  elegance  by 
himself.  The  little  bed  in  the  alcove  was  draped  with  mus- 
lin.  Vases  of  flowers  stood  on  the  chimney,  over  which  hung 
a  picture  of  his  late  eminent  and  excellent  friend,  the  Depute 
Manuel.  His  table  was  covered  with  books  and  writing  ma- 
terials. 

His  position,  our  former  acquaintance,  and  present  visit, 
formed  the  first  topics  of  our  conversation.  In  answer  to  some 
expression  of  sympathy,  he  said,  "I  am  not  so  ill  off  here,  I 
assure  you.  I  am  the  least  restless  animal  {Vanimal  le  moins 
remuani)  in  the  world  ;  and  moreover,  I  am  so  circumstanced, 
that  I  can  see  none  but  friends.  Besides,"  he  added,  "  I  am 
the  object  of  perpetual  attentions  to  many,  who,  under  other 
circumstances,  would  never  think  of  me — you  see  1  have  the 
freshest  flowers,  and  the  finest  fruits  of  the  season." 

I  thought  of  all  the  charming  poetry  that  such  offerings 
had  called  forth,  in  the  still  more  horrible  prison  of  St.  Pe- 
lagie,*  and  I  expressed  a  hope  that  La  Force  would  not  be 
less  distinguished  than  St.  Pelagie.     He  said  : 

"Yes,  if  I  have  time  ;  but  I  am  not  a  facile,  not  a  rapid 
writer.  I  rarely  compose  more  than  sixteen  songs  in  the 
year.  Then,  from  ten  till  four,  when  the  prison  gates  are 
closed,  I  am  occupied  with  some  kind  friend  or  other,  who 
comes  to  chat  with  me." 

In  the  course  of  conversation,  he  mentioned  that  the  room 
underneath  was  clearing  out  for  a  prisoner,  who  was  to  be 

*  "Ma  Guerison,"  on  receiving  a  present  of  wine,  of  w'hich  the  fol- 
Ipwing  is  tlie  commencement: 

"  J'espere, 
Q,ue  le  vin  opere. 
Oui,  tout  est  bien,  mfeme  en  prison — 
Le  vin  m'a  rendu  la  raison."  &c.  &ic.  Stc. 


212  BKRANGBR. 

brought  in  at  night.  "  It  was  an  honest  country  gentleman,'* 
he  said,  who  cho  e  to  write  a  pamphlet  on  the  justice  and  ne- 
cessity of  re-establishing  the  national  guard,  for  which  he  was 
prosecuted.  "  What  a  sad  transition,"  I  observed,  "  from 
his  woods  and  vineyards  to  La  Force  !"  "  Yes,  poor  fellow  !" 
said  Beranger,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  he  will  feel  it  more 
than  I  have  done."  Somebody  mentioned  another  melan- 
choly event,  connected  with  the  terrible  edifice.  In  the  very 
place,  where  De  Beranger  was  confined,  was  lodged  the  un- 
fortunate Princesse  de  Lamballe  ;  and  at  the  wicket,  through 
which  we  had  passed,  she  was  put  co  death.  Here,  too,  the 
Due  de  Rovigo  was  confined  during  that  most  extraordinary 
and  melodramatic  of  all  political  events,  the  conspiration  de 
Mallet:  but  every  anecdote  of  such  a  place  is  an  historical 
tragedy. 

The  sound  of  some  one  singing  in  the  court  below,  drew  us 
to  the  window.  It  was  a  handcuffed  prisoner,  who  was  walk- 
ing under  the  trees.  There  was  something  inconceivably 
heari-rending  in  the  circumstance.  Beranger  said,  that  he 
never  went  down  into  the  court  to  take  exercise,  till  the  other 
prisoners  wer'i  locked-up  in  those  dens  (pointing  to  the  iron 
grated  door  which  opened  into  it).  "  I  used  at  first  to  go 
down,  and  walk  among  them ;  but  it  was  too  painful.  Their 
claims  on  my  purse  and  my  feelings  were  too  exorbitant." 

Before  we  left  him,  his  cheerfulness,  and  philosophy,  and 
the  conversation  of  the  circle  by  which  he  "was  surrounded,^ 
had  banished  every  less  gracious  impression  :  and  when  we 
took  our  ie?ve,  it  was  in  repeating  his  own  line, 

"  Oui,  tout  est  bien,  inferoe  en  prison." 

The  visit  to  such  a  man,  in  such  a  place,  produces  any 
other  impression  than  that  which  is  desired  by  those  who  es- 
timate the  sufferings  of  the  free-minded  and  the  devoted,  as 
an  additional  security  for  their  own  unlimited  and  desolating 
power.  Base  and  dastardly  indeed  must  be  that  spirit,  which 
departs  not  from  such  scenes,  with  a  heart  more  determined 
to  do  and  to  suffer  in  the  great  cause  of  humanity  ;  and  that 
does  not  feel  its  sympathies  kindle,  and  its  indignation  fiame 
at  the  sight  of  such  means,  adopted  for  such  ends.  For  what 
purpose  is  all  this  apparatus  of  tyranny,  these  padlocks  upon 
mind,  the  jail,  the  gibbet,  the  mercenary  army,  the  spy,  the 
censor,  the  violator  of  private  correspondence,  the  tribunal  of 
exception,  and  the  executioner — to  obtain  the  power  of  doings 


PRIVATE    COLLECTIONS.  213 

evil.  To  do  good,  the  narrowest  prerogatives  of  constitutional 
monarchy  are  amply  abundant ! 


PRIVATE  COLLECTIONS. 

This  has  been  a  most  amusing  and  interesting  morning. 
We  have  passed  the  early  part  of  it  in  that  old,  national  cabi- 
net,  the  Faubourg  de  St.  Germatne.  Our  first  visit  was  to  the 
little  museum  of  Monsieur  de  Villenave  ;  for  such  his  apart- 
meat  literally  is.  His  library,  though  very  small,  is  very 
curious,  full  of  the  most  precious  things,  a  little  Vatican  in 
its  way.  We  found  Monsieur  de  Villenave  seated  in  the 
arm-charm  of  Madame  d'Houdetot,  from  which  she  so  often 
issued  her  sentimental  edicts  to  St.  Lambert,  and  before 
which  Rousseau  so  often  knelt,  to  receive  the  inspirations  of 
his  "Jm/Zc."  Rev  iiendide,  and  a  beautiful  little  statue  of 
Voltaire,  stood  on  the  chimney-piece.  She  had  written  un- 
der the  statue,  on  a  label, 

"  Q,ui  que  tu  sois,  voila  ton  maltre." 

Monsieur  de  Villenave,  as  I  understand,  purchased  the  en- 
tire furniture  of  her  boudoir. 

Among  the  curious  books  in  his  collection,  was  a  horrible 
relic  of  horrible  times — a  printed  copy  of  the  constitution  of 
1793,  bound  in  human  skin.  It  had  been  the  pioperty  of 
a  terrorist,  who  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  atrocity  on  the  scaf- 
fold. The  temperament  that  could  lend  itself  to  such  a  dere- 
lictiun  of  all  human  feeling  must,  at  all  times,  form  a  mon- 
strosity, for  which  nature  is  accountable  ;  but  its  untamed  de- 
velopment in  the  bosom  of  society,  is  the  consequence  of 
institutions  ;  and  the  terrorists  were  the  children  of  the  an- 
cient monarchy.  What  a  reprieve  !  to  shake  off  the  horror 
and  disgust  of  such  a  memorial,  by  turning  to  the  beautiful 
original  picture  of  La  Valliere — of  one,  whose  defects  were 
all  on  the  side  of  weakness.  This  is  the  portrait  by  Mignard, 
from  which  the  well-known  engraving  is  taken.  It  is  La 
Valliere,  in  all  her  beauty  and  softness,  and  in  the  first  era 
of  her  too  fatal  pre-eminence  in  the  capricious  passion  of  the 
king.     She  was  the  first  mmtresse  tilr(e  since   the  time  of 


214  PRIVATE  COLLECTIONS. 

Mad'""  Entragues,  the  successor  of /a  Z»e//e  Gahrielle ;  and 
the  pubUcity  aud  pomp  with  which  she  was  installed  in  her  > 
degrading  elevation,  and  the  high  titles  bestowed  upon  her 
and  her  illegitimate  children,  gave  the  greatest  blow  to  pub- 
lie  morals  that  had  ever  been  inflicted  by  the  influence  and 
example  of  the  highest  personage  in  the  state.  From  that 
time  till  the  retreat  of  Madame  du  Barry,  a  state  mistress 
made  part  of  the  civil  and  religious  establishment  of  France. 

This  picture  of  La  Vallicre,  all  soft  and  lovely  as  it  is,  has 
neither  spirit  nor  expression.  It  is  the  face  of  a  woman,  who 
might  have  been  first  a  concubine  and  then  a  bigot ;  and 
have  qualified  for  the  cell  of  the  rfligieuse,  in  the  harem  of 
the  sultan, — the  i\ice  of  a  Duchess  de  la  Valliere,  and  a  soeur 
Louise  de  la  mis&ricorde. 

Not  so  the  charming  picture  of  her,  who  hangs  opposite. 
This  is  the  visage  of  an  honest  woman,  all  over  the  world. 
It  has  none  of  the  feebleness  nor  the  sensuality  of  those  faces 
of  the  courts  of  Louis  XIV.  and  of  our  Charles  II.,  whose 
originals  were  excused  by  being  thought  to  have  loved  "  not 
wisely,  but  too  well ;"  but  who  were,  nevertheless,  in  gene- 
ral, the  most  loveless  and  heartless  of  their  sex.  This  is  the 
countenance  of  an  affectionate  creature.  All  the  tender 
sympathies  of  wife,  mother,  friend,  are  traced  in  its  anxious 
lines  and  solicitous  look.  The  eyes  have  a  dimmed,  subdued 
lustre  in  their  intelligent  glance,  like  the  eyes  of  one  who  had 
read  and  wept  much.  There  is,  too,  a  shade  of  tender  sad^ 
ness  over  the  whole  countenance,  which  mingles  with  its 
intelligence,  and  expresses  disappointed  affection,  (that  most 
acute  of  all  feelings,)  — disappointed  where  the  heart  had 
treasured  up  all  its  hope.  The  hair  is  remarkable  :  it  islux-^ 
uriant,  and  beautifully  dressed,  in  a  profusion  of  curls  on 
either  side,  like  the  heads  of  Charles  the  Second's  beauties; 
and  yet,  it  is  silver  grey.  The  whole  dress  and  air  is  ex- 
pressive of  toilet  coquetry,  the  personal  attention  of  one  who 
could  not  forget  the  habit  of  pleasing.  It  is  the  picture  of 
Madame  de  Scvigne,  in  her  latter  days  ;  and  probably  was 
painted  just  before  she  left  Paris  for  Grignan,  where  she  died 
in  harness,  and  true  to  her  original  calling, — of  fatigue  and 
anxiety,  in  attending  her  grandchild  through  a  long  illness. 
It  is  ti)e  only  original  picture  I  have  ever  seen  of  Madame  de 
S6vign6,  in  advanced  life  ;  it  gave  no  idea  of  the  spirit  and 
energy  of  her  character,  nor  of  the  brilliancy  of  her  wit ; 
but  was  the  portrait  of  a  good  woman,  and  of  a  ci-devant 
pretty  one. 


Phivate  collections.  215 

tjnder  this  picture  lay  a  very  curious  little  map  and  draw- 
ing  of  the  Chateau  de  Grignan,  sketched  by  Madame  de  Se- 
vigne  herself,  and  a  small  collection  of  her  manuscript  let- 
ters ;  I  kissed  them  with  the  devotion  of  a  pilgrim.  All  the 
women  of  fashion,  of  her  times,  wrote  the  same  hand.  The 
long,  thin,  Italian  character  of  Madame  de  Sevigne's  auto- 
graph, is  particularly  like  Madame  La  Valliere's,  which  I 
had  seen  the  day  before.*  The  letters  of  both,  likewise, 
were  written  on  the  first  page,  continued  on  the  third,  and 
then  back  again  to  the  second,  as  if  there  was  no  blotting 
paper,  nor  writing  sand. 

The  letters  of  Madame  de  Grignan  are  better  written  ; 
there  was  in  the  hand  something  of  that  decided  character 
and  ungracious  manner,  that  so  often  chilled  the  heart  of  her 
devoted  motherj  and  drew  from  her  complaints  of  disappoint- 
ment, which  tradition  has  given  to  posterity,  though  her 
charming  letters  have  not.  The  letters  of  Madame  de  Grig- 
nan were  written  to  Monsieur  Lamoignon,  on  business,  and 
they  were  found  amongst  the  interesting  papers  of  his  illus- 
trious descendant,  the  martyr  Malesherbej;. 

Among  other  autographs,  I  noticed  a  letter  of  Louis  the 
Thirteenth,  written  in  a  good,  legible  hand  ;  and  one,  very 
ill  written,  by  Louis  the  Fourteenth  ;  it  is  addressed  to  Ma- 
dame Lamoignon,  from  the  camp  at  Ghent,  after  one  of  his 
victories.  It  begins  like  the  letter  of  a  capuchin,  and  ends 
like  that  of  a  despot,  ascribing  his  victories  to  her  prayers, 
and  those  of  other  such  saints;  and  threatening  destruction 
to  all  who  should,  in  future,  oppose  his  will.  There  was,  also, 
a  letter  from  Marie  Antoinette,  in  writing  and  spelling  wor- 
thy of  some  grisetle  of  the  Rue  St.  Denis.  Its  subject  was 
the  placing  or  displacing  a  garcon  de  la  garderohe — I  forget 
which. 

Among  the  picturesj  ^vhich  both  from  their  execution  and 
the  originals  they  represented,  were  of  no  common  interest, 
the  most  striking  were  Rabelais  laughing,  and  showing  the 
finest  teeth  in  the  world  ;  a  miniature  of  the   same  original 

*  In  the  private  library  of  the  King,  at  the  Lonvre,  where,  among 
other  strange  things,  I  saw  the  work  on  Sicily,  of  our  excellent,  and  old 
friend.  General  Cocklxirn.  A  King's  private  library'  was  the  last  place 
in  wliicli  I  expected  to  lind  any  of  his  writings.  We  were  aware  that 
the  volumes  were 

"  Neitlier  new  nor  rare  ; 
But  wondered  how  tlie  devil  they  got  there." 
And  all  who  know  the  gallant  General,  will  share  in  the  amazement. 


216  PRIVATE    COLIiECTIONS. 

author,  in  a  curious  old  metal  frame  ;  a  splendid  head  of  Af- 
nauld,  the  jansenist ;  and  a  most  curious  and  amusing  picture 
by  Rigaud,  of  J.  B.  Rousseau,  Chaulieu,  and  the  Marquis  de 
la  Fore,  at  supper  ;  in  the  distance,  and  in  deep  shadow, 
stands  Rigaud  himself,  sketching  this  singular,  and  once  cele- 
brated group.  Some  pictures  of  greater  value,  as  being  by 
old  masters,  but  which  were  of  less  interest  to  me,  in  my  pre- 
sent hunt  after  "  modern  antiquities,"  attracted  my  notice, 
but  have  escaped  my  memory. 

Monsieur  de  Villenave,  in  doing  the  honours  of  his  own 
collection,  proved  himself  well  worthy  to  be  the  possessor  of 
such  valuable  relics.  Much  reading,  and  long  intercourse 
with  the  world,  the  eloquence  of  familiar  conversation,  and 
that  fascinating  talent,  so  truly  French,  the  talent  de  Men  con- 
ter,  combined  to  render  him  an  admirable  cicerone  ;  and  the 
anecdotes  and  observations  with  which  he  illustrated  the  va- 
rious objects,  added  considerably  to  their  value  ;  while  it  made 
us  insensible  to  the  fatigues  of  sight-seeing  ;  which,  truth  to 
tell,  not  unfrequently  form  a  heavy  discount  on  the  pleasure 
and  instruction  it  affords. 

On  leaving  Monsieur  Villenave's,  we  dropped  in  at  Mon- 
sieur L'Avocat's,  (the  publisher,)  who  conducted  us  to  a  bou- 
doir, that  might  kill  with  envy  the  most  confirmed  petite  mai- 
tresse  of  the  Chaussee  d'Antin.  He  shewed  us  some  of  the 
most  curious  manuscripts  and  autographs,  which  even  France 
can  boast.  There  were  two  letters  from  Lucien  Bonaparte 
to  Monsieur  Bourrienne,  which  were  written  at  distant  inter- 
vals. The  first  was  in  the  most  familiar  intimacy  of  confi- 
dential friendship,  and  was  written  to  borrow  a  little  money  : 
the  second,  was  from  the  brother  of  the  emperor ;  and,  be- 
ginning with  ''Monsieur,"  ends  with  the  old  form  of  royal  va- 
ledictions, "  que  Dieu  voiis  ait  en  sa  sainle  garde." 

The  letter  of  Bonaparte,  first  consul,  to  Louis  the  Eigh- 
teenth, beginning  "  Monsieur,"  is  a  most  curious  monument, 
illustrative  of  the  most  extraordinary  times.  Manuscripts  of 
Delille,  Chenier,  Denon,  Talma,  Manuel,  Lanjuinais,  Ca- 
mille  Jourdah,  General  Foy,  &c.  &c.  were  also  presented  to 
us  in  succession,  and  had  each  their  specific  interests :  and 
so  completely  had  our  morning's  amusements  inflamed  our 
curiosity,  on  the  subject  of  autographs,  that  we  heard  with 
much  pleasure,  from  our  young  friend  De  Montrol,  that  there 
was  at  the  Magazin  de  Madame  Pecher,  on  the  ^'wai  Voltaire, 
lithographic  autographs  to  be  purchased,  that  would  fill  a  port- 
folio.    We   took  leave  of  Monsieur  L'Avocat,  with  a  due 


PRIVATE  COLLECTIONS.  217 

sense  of  his  politeness,  the  value  of  his  literary  property,  and 
the  beauty  of  his  boudoir,  a  model  of  which  we  recommend  to 
all  English  publishers,  who  are  anxious  to  set  off  their  calling 
to  advantage. 

The  collection  of  JMorisieur  Sommerard,  Rue  Mesnars,  is  a 
treasure  of  antiquarian  curiosity.  It  consists  of  a  suite  of 
apartments,  furnished  with  every  possible  article  of  domestic 
use,  of  the  epoch  when  Charles  the  Eighth  returned  from  his 
Italian  expedition,  and  brouglit  with  him  Italian  artists,  who 
gave  a  new  character  to  the  furniture  of  France.  During  the 
fury  of  the  revolution,  ]Monsicur  Sommerard,  like  Denon,  pur- 
chased articles  of  curiosity,  sold  out  of  the  great  houses,  and 
sold  for  almost  nothing.  The  bed  of  Francis  the  First  was 
bought  in  the  open  street.  It  is  placed  in  an  apartment,  with 
an  infinity  of  contemporary  articles  of  bed-room  furniture. 

In  the  dining  room,  a  knight  in  full  armour  is  placed  at  a 
table  under  a  dais.  The  drcssoir,  or  sideboard,  is  perfect, 
and  the  knives,  spoons,  and  earthenware  are  all  appropriate, 
and  of  the  same  date.  Every  variety  of  armour,  swords, 
spears,  daggers,  are  accumulated  in  this  chamber.  The  bed- 
room is  hung  with  gilt  leather.  The  chairs  are  low  and  easy, 
of  white  leather  and  gold  flowers,  varnished.  On  the  table  is 
a  mirror  of  about  six  inches  square,  the  frame  inlaid  with 
carved  ivory  and  gems  ;  on  the  top  is  a  Venus  with  a  garland, 
also  carved  in  ivory.  The  back  of  tiiis  mirror  presents  an 
alt-ar  and  a  cross,  curiouslycontrasting  with  the  Venus  in  front  ; 
it  is  of  the  time  of  the  Valois.  In  this  Pompeii  of  the  middle 
ages  are  preserved  a  sort  of  spinette  or  virginal  of  the  time  of 
Marie  de  Medici,  and  an  abundance  of  cabinets  of  great  value 
and  beauty  ;  with  many  specimens  of  carving,  inlaying,  and 
casting,  not  improbably  the  works  of  Benvennto  Cellini,  and 
Jean  de  Boulogne.  The  collection  is  unique  in  its  kind,  and 
wonderfully  extensive  and  complete,  as  a  result  of  individual 
industry  and  research.  It  will  well  repay  the  visit  of  the 
English  antiquary  ;  and  as  a  mere  object  of  sight-seeing,  will 
afford  amusement  to  those  unimbued  with  a  decided  taste  for 
antiquarian  pursuits. 

We  concluded  this  sight-seeing  day  with  a  visit  to  the  curious 
collection  of  pictures,  called  '■'la  CoUection  Diode sienne,'" 
and  a  peep  at  the  Cosmorama  of  our  friend,  the  Commandeur 
do  Gazzera. 


Vol.  1.-19 


218  EXCLUSIVES. 


SOCIETY— EXCLUSIVES. 

Driving   about  Paris  the  other  day,  with   a  distinguished 
member  of  the  garde  de  corps^  who  though  cntiche  with  mili- 
tary honour,  is  not  the  less  a  son  of  the  revolution,  bearing 
the  stamp  of  his  age,  I  asked  him  if  there  was  no  exclusive 
nucleus  of  fashion  which  gave  the  tone  to  society,  and  shut  and 
opened  the  gates  of  its  paradise  of  fools  at  will :  in  a  word, 
such  a  set  as  he  had  himself  lived  with  in  London,  the  elite  of 
rank,  fortune,  and  tonish  celebrity.     He  replied — "Nothing  of 
the  kind.     Every  attempt  to  form  such  an  influential  coterie  of 
exclusives  (for  it  has  been  frequently  attempted  since  the  re- 
storation)   has    utterly  failed.     Some  of  your   English   great 
ladies,  who  have  settled  here  for  reasons  it  would  be  want  of 
gallantry  to  discuss,  and  a  certain  number  of  diplomatic  ladies, 
and  of  the  fair  members  of  the  emigration,  who  go  upon  their 
historic   names,  and  the  favouritism  of  their   mothers  in  the 
court  of  Marie  Antoinette,  have  endeavoured  to  get  up  an  ex- 
clusive circle,  with  such  pretences  to  superiority  as  France  no 
longer   acknowledges.      But    though   a  coterie   may   huddle 
together  in  the  entresols  of  the  Tuileries,  or  amid  the  solemn 
gloom  of  the  faubourg, — and  from  their  admission  to  the  as- 
semblies of  the  Dutchesse  de  Berri,  may  call  themselves  '  la 
societe  du  chateau;''  and  though  an  inferior  satellite  of  lesser 
light  may  revolve  round  this  orbit,  with  the  less-distinguished 
appellation   of  '  le   petit    chateau,'' — still   their   existence  is 
almost  unknown  to  the  great,  the  enlightened,  the  stirring  so- 
ciety of  Paris.     In  private   life,  as  in  public,  the  highest  dis- 
tinctions are  awarded  to  genius,  worth,  virtue,  and  patriotism, 
— to  the  fame  of  military  glory  when  treachery  has  not  blasted 
it ;  and  to  the  reputation  of  works  tending  to  improve  and 
delight  mankind.     Besides,  the  haute  noblesse  and  their  friends, 
the  English  fashionables  and  foreign  diplomates,  have  no  means 
of  competing  with  the  immense  wealth  of  the  classe  indus- 
trielle,  and  with  the  dynasties  of  the  Bourse.     There  is  no 
making  head  against  the  magnificent  hospitality  of  the  Perriers, 
Lafittes,  Ternaux,  Rothschilds,  &c.  whose  entertainments  are 
characterized  by  perfect  equality  ;  or  if  there  is  any  exclusion, 
it  arises  solely  from  preference  of  amusing  talent,  ennobling 
genius,  or  well-merited  celebrity.     But  of  this  you  have  been 


FROMOXT.  219 

enabled  to  judge  for  yourself,  and  I  leave  you  to  draw  the 
inference.  I  must,  however,  observe,  that  the  same  principle 
appeared  to  me  to  be  gaining  ground  even  in  your  exclusive 
circles  of  London,  where  the  '  most  agreeable'  takes  the  pas 
of  the  '  most  noble,'  and  where  youth,  beauty,  and  wit  have 
a  decided  advantage  over  dowager  dulness  and  aristocratic 
morgue." 


HORTICULTURAL  INSTITUTIONS— FROMOXT. 

"  Des  Jltitrs,  et  des  livres.  Voila  tout  ce  quHl  faut  a  ma 
vie .'"  said  the  heroic  Madame  Roland,  whose  tastes  were  as 
simple  as  her  mind  was  sublime.  I  believe  there  is  no  other 
place  where  such  tastes  are  so  well  supplied, — where  flowers 
and  books  are  so  abundant,  and  so  cheaply  and  so  readily  ob- 
tained as  in  Paris.  A  hook  and  a  bouquet,  are  the  common 
necessaries  of  life  there  ;  and  the  purest  of  sensual  and  of  in- 
tellectual pleasures  are  enjoyed  alike  by  the  highest  and  low- 
est classes,  and  are  within  the  reach  of  all.  Every  street  has 
its  stalls  of  fresh  flowers  and  its  stdnds  of  cheap  editions  ;  and 
violets  and  Voltaire  are  to  be  had  at  a  price,  that  would  in 
London  scarcely  buy  a  primer  or  a  primrose. 

I  am  almost  persuaded  that  nature  has  invented  new  flow- 
ers since  I  was  last  in  France,  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the  in- 
creasing taste  for  her  productions  ;  or,  if  she  has  not  origin- 
ated, she  has  perhaps  copied  from  the  guirlandes  of  Baton, 
or  the  ^'ficurs  detacMs"  o^  Nattier.*  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  cer- 
tainly see  flowers  now  which  I  never  saw  before  ;  and  whether 
indigenous  or  exotic,  they  are  delicious  discoveries.  In  old 
France,  gardens  were  only  cultivated,  says  the  learned  presi- 
dent of  the  Socicte  Horticulturale,  ^'-  pour  nous  fournir  les 
plantes  nonrricieres  dont  nous  avons  besoin,  en  reparant  par 
une  prompts  et  abondante  reproduction  les  consommations  de 
chaque  j our :'''']    and   the  homely  name   of  potagere  plainly 

*  The  two  most  fashionable  florists  of  Paris,  who  have  arrived  at  a 
perfection,  in  their  imitations  of  nature,  that  elevates  their  trade  into 
an  art. 

t  "  Tofm-nish  the  edible  plants,  by  reproducing,  promptly  and  abun-- 
dantly,  th,e  consumption  of  each  day." 


220  HORTICULTUKAL    1^'STITUTIOS. 

speaks  its  designation.  Henry  the  Fourth  (whose  hardy,  rustic 
education  threw  more  useful  knowledge  into  his  active  mind, 
than  Fenelon  or  Ceesar  Moreau  were  permitted  to  suggest  to 
the  Dukes  of  Burgundy  or  Bourdeaux)  was  fond  of  agriculture, 
aware  of  its  utiliiy,  and  delighted  to  talk  to  his  old  gardener 
Claude  Mollct  "  de  la  plantation  des  arbres,  et  de  la  culture  des 
hortolagcs :'" — He  did  more  than  talk  ; — he  gave  a  public  and 
useful  direction  to  his  own  individual  taste  ;  and  instituted  his 
''  Ecole  du  Jardinagc,'''  founded  a  public  garden  at  Montpellier, 
and  planted  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries  with  mulberries  ;  while 
he  frequently  discussed  the  agricultural  interests  of  France, 
,  and  '■'■  mestiagc  des  cliamps^^'  with  the  most  learned  agronorne 
of  those  times,  Oliver  de  Sevres. 

Louis  the  Fourteenth  multiplied  the  royal  gardens,  at  an 
enormous  expense  ;  and  committed  his  hocages  and  quincimxes 
of  Versailles  to  the  superintendence  of  Le  Notre,  and  of  his 
vast  orangeries  to  La  Quintinee  ;  for  Pluinier,  Tournefort,  and 
Fernel,  who  were  despatciied  to  America,  to  the  Levant,  and 
to  Pei'u,  to  procure  exotics,  brought  not  back  with  them  the 
art  of  gardening,  nor  a  taste  for  horticultural  pursuits.  Many 
noble  and  public  foundations  for  the  advancement  of  the 
■science  had  succeeded  each  other  in  successive  reigns  and 
epochs  of  French  history  ;  but  it  never  has  been  so  cultivated 
by  private  individuals,  nor  become  an  object  of  such  intense 
interest,  as  in  the  present  moment  of  universal  devotion  to  all 
that  is  good  and  useful.  The  popular  works  of  Morel,  Thoiiin, 
Bosc,  and  other  eminent  writers  on  the  science,  have  greatly 
tended  to  promote  its  universality  ;  and  many  magnificent  pri- 
vate establishments  are  the  results  of  their  influence. 

Among  these,  the  splendid  gardens  of  Messieurs  Boursault, 
Vilmorin,  S(3mon,  Fulchiron,  Soulange  Bodin,  &c.  exhibit  the 
immense  acquirements  which  horticulture  has  made  during 
the  last  twenty  years  in  France  ;  and  bear  testimony  to  the 
benefit  which  that  country  has  derived  from  the  genius  and  the 
science  of  the  Jussieus,  Des  Fontaines,  and  a  host  of  learned 
botanists  and  horticulturists.*  We  had  already  visited  the 
celebrated  and  magnificent  gardens  of  M.  Boursault  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Chausee  d' Antin,  when  we  received  a^l 
invitation   from  Monsieur  and  Madame  Soulange  Bodin,  to 

*  Bonaparte  did  more  for  science  than  all  the  kings  of  the  three  races 
combined.  Let  the  lovers  of  horticulture  in  France  never  forj^et,  too, 
liow  much  they  owe  to  the  taste,  the  enterprise,  and  the  liberalitj'  of 
that  charming  woman,  by  far  the  best  and  in  every  sense  the  Jirst  of 
his  wives — the  Empress  Josephine. 


I 


FKOMO^T.  221 

visit ''  les  jardins  dc  Fromont,'"  and  to  dine  and  enjoy  a  long 
summer's  day,  in  those  beautiful  scenes  which  they  have  so 
iiigldy  embellished  on  a  site  so  favourable  to  horticultural  pur- 
suits. 

Monsieur  Soulange  Bodin,  who  is  esteemed  one  of  the  most 
learned  agronomes  of  France,*  animated  by  a  sentiment  of 
public  good,  which  now  so  generally  combines  in  France  with 
every  private  speculation,  lias  recently  opened  his  mngnifi- 
cent  establishment  at  Froinont  as  a  practical  school  of  horti- 
culture ;  where,  assisted  by  many  learned  individuals,  he  has 
founded  a  clrair  of  horticulture  under  the  auspices  of  the  Di- 
rector General  of  Agrit;u!ture.  This  society  was  inaugurated 
on  the  14th  of  May,  1829.  The  inauguration  was  a  cere- 
mony of  considerable  and  novel  interest.  It  began  by  a  so- 
lemn mass  in  the  church  of  His;  and  was  attended  by  all  the 
pupils,  gardeners,  husbandmen,  and  labourers  employed  on  the 
ground  ;  and  by  the  most  of  the  landed  proprietors  and  resi- 
dents of  the  neighbourhood.  The  first  sitting  was  held  on 
the  following  day :  it  was  numerously  and  respectably  at- 
tended ;  and,  in  addition  to  the  auditory  of  the  preceding  day, 
by  most  of  the  eminent  scientific  men  and  professors  of  Pa- 
ris. Discourses  applicable  to  the  useful  foundation  were  de- 
livered by  M.  de  Thury,  president  of  the  Horticultural  Society 
of  Paris,  by  Professeur  Poiteau,  by  the  Abbe  Puy,  and  M.  Bois- 
bertrand  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  Director  General  of 
Agriculture. 

The  advantage  which  will  be  derived  from  such  practical 
schools  of  gardeners  by  the  highest  and  the  lowest  classes  of 
society  are  obvious  and  incalculable.  Attached  to  the  esta- 
blishment is  a  library,  open  to  all,  a  cabinet  of  instruments  and 
implements,  including  models  of  gardening  utensils  of  modern 
and  improved  invention,  with  an  herbal,  to  be  completed  by 
the  researches  of  the  young  gardeners  themselves.  In  a  word, 
every  thing  in  this  institution,  foimded  by  a  private  individual, 
bears  upon  the  words  with  which  the  Director  General  opened 
its  first  meeting  : — "  Instruire  Jcs  hommes  cest  Iciir  donner  Ic 
inoyca  d'etre  hctireux,  et  de  concoiirir  au  bonheur  de  ce  qui  hs- 
entoure ; — V instruction  fait  aimer  le  travail; — et  le  travail 
cree  des  vert  us,  aussi  hicn  que  des  ri  chesses.^  ^  \ 

*  Le  Chevalier  Soulange  Bodin  was  superintendant  of  tlie  grounds, 
gardens,  and  improvements  of  Mahnaison. 

t  "  Instruction  is  a  means  of  happiness,  to  the  individual,  and  to  those 
by  whom  he  is  surrounded.  It  promotes  a  love  of  imlustry  ;  and  in- 
dustry  creates  virtues  as  vvejl  as  riches," 


222  ^  FROMOKT. 

Among  the  many  agreeable  and  instructive  days  which  we 
enjoyed  on  the  occasion  of  our  visit  to  Paris  in  1829,  we  have 
to  register  that  which  we  passed  in  the  enchanting  grounds 
and  gardens  of  Fremont,*  and  with  the  agreeable  and  en- 
lightened Family  of  the  Chevalier  Soulange  Bodin  and  his 
lady. 

*  The  gardens  are  of  immense  extent,  and  situated  most  beautifully 
on  the  banks  of  the  Seine.  "  Leur  ordonnance  est  telle,"  says  a  notice 
on  the  grounds,  "  aujourd'hui,  qu'elles  ofTrent  en  quelque  sorte,  par 
leur  eteuduo,  leur  rapprochement,  et  leur  liaison,  I'aspect  d'un  haiheau 
dont  tous  les  toits  seraient  vitres.  Leur  longueur  est  d'environ  2G0O 
pieds  ;  elles  presentent  toutes  les  expositions,  ce  qui  les  rend  propres 
a  toutes  les  cultures.  L'eau  y  est  amente  par  des  tuj'aux  de  plomb, 
et  distribuee  par  des  robinels  qui  la  versent  dans  des  reservoirs  en 
pierre,  en  plomb,  et  en  zinc,  places  dans  chaque  serre,  de  telle  maniere 
qu'on  pent  la  voir  couler  dans  une  des  divisions  seulement  ou  dans 
toutes  les  divisions  a  la  fois.  Elle  se  met  ainsi  prompteraent  au  niveau 
de  la  temperature  de  chaque  serre.  Les  baches  en  pierre  ou  en  bois, 
consacrecs  aux  semis,  aux  boutures,  aux  sevrages,  a  I'^ducation  ct  d 
I'abritemcnt  des  jeunes  Aleves  n'ont  guere  moins  de  4  a  5,000  pieds 
de  long. 

"  Ces  divers  apparcils  ^?ont  employes  a  I'entretien  et  a  la  propagation 
d'une  collection  de  vegetaux  dont  beaucoup  sont  encore  rares  pour  la 
France,  qui  s'eleve  deja,  y  compris  les  objets  de  pleine  terre,  a  plus  df 
six  mille  especes  ou  varietes.  Le  nombre  des  multiples  eleves  en  pots 
est  constamment  entrctcnu  a  environ  cent  vingt  mille.  La  partie  du 
jardin  consacree  aux  pla^itcs  de  terre  de  bruyere  est  jugee,  par  tous  les 
connaisscurs,  ce  c^u'il  y  a  de  plus  complet  en  ce  genre  dans  les  environs 
de  Paris.  Pour  donnor  une  idee  rapide  des  multiplications  dans  cette 
seule  partie,  il  sulHt  do  dire  qu'il  a  ete  repiquil'  I'armee  derniere,  sous  des 
ch3i3sis  vitres,  quarante  mille  Kalmia  latifolia  et  que  quatre  mille  Aza- 
lees  sont  disposes  en  pots  pour  la  greffe  de  plus  de  cent  cinquante  va- 
riet^s,  par  le  precede  du  Baron  de  Tschoudy.  Cette  espece  de  pepi- 
niere  est  protegee  contre  le  soleil  et  centre  les  vents  par  de  longues  pa- 
lissades  de  Thuyas  qui  entrccoupent  les  plates-bandes  sans  les  encom- 
brer,  et  arrosee  par  de  nombreuses  rigoles  ;  et  en  mdme  temps  qu'elle 
se  lie  heureusement,  par  le  contour  prolong^  de  sa  masse  toujours  verte, 
a  la  scene  generale  du  Pare,  elle  renferme  deja  dans  son  sein  des  res- 
soui'ces  considerables,  dont  savent  profiter  les  Pepinieristeset  Fleuristcs 
do  la  province  et  de  I'etranger,  ([ui  vicnneut  actuellement  s'y  assortir/' 


EXD    OF    VOL.    I. 


THE  FAMILY  LIBRARY. 

Several  Numbers  of  "  The  Family  Library"  are 
now  in  press,  and  will  shortly  be  ready  for  publication. 

To  render  the  American  edition  of  "  The  Family 
Library"  stUl  more  v.orthy  of  the  extensive  patronage 
whicli  it  has  received,  the  publishers  intend  to  incorpo- 
rate in  it  every  work  of  interest  and  value  which  may 
be  embraced  in  .''  The  Libraiy  of  General  Knowledge,'^ 
"The  Juvenile  Family  Library,"  "The  Librarj'  of 
Modern  Travels,"  "  Constable's  Miscellany,"  &c. 
These  works,  as  they  appear  ft-om  the  London  presses, 
will  be  submitted  to  the  inspection  of  several  literary 
gentlemen,  and  all  such,  and  only  such,  as  will  be  calcu- 
lated to  maintain  and  exalt  the  present  elevated  charac- 
ter of  "  The  Family  Librar}'"  Avill  be  admitted. 

In  addition  to  these  proposed  acquisitions,  the  pub- 
lishers have  engaged  several  writers,  already  advan- 
tageously known  to  the  public,  to  prepare  far  th' 
"  Librar}'"  works  of  an  American  character,  on  inter- 
esting and  popular  subjects.  In  short,  every  exertion 
will  be  made  to  render  tliis  "  Family  Library-"  a  v/ork 
equally  entertaining  to  age  and  instructive  to  youth ; 
alike  profitable  to  the  ignorant,  and  acceptable  to  the 
learned. 


"  The  Family  Library — a  work  which  no  one  can 
take  into  his  hands  Avithout  perceiving,  that  the  supply 
of  the  reading  market  is  undergoing,  or  about  to  imdergo, 
a  complete  revolution  ;  which,  in  the  names  of  some  of 
\ts  wTiters,  furnishes  evidence  that  the  very  highest 
talent  no  longer  disdauas  to  labour  for  those  who  can 
buy  cheap  books  only — and  evidence  we  are  stUl  more 
happy  to  see,  that  an  attempt  at  least  is  to  be  made  to 
infiise  and  strengthen  right  principles  and  feelings,  as 
well  as  to  extend  mere  knowledge,  among  those 
classes." — Quarterly  Revieiv,  No.  LXXVIII. 


Works  Recently  Published. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  JEWS:  (Nos.  1.  11.  &  HI. 
of  the  Family  Library.)  By  the  Rev.  H.  H.  Mihiian.  In 
3  volumes,  l8mo.  Illustrated  Avith  original  Maps  and 
Woodcuts. 

*'  The  high  attainments  of  Professor  Milman.  as  a  classical  and  biblical  scholar,  are  too  well 
kno\vu  to  require  an  extended  notice  from  us ;  anil  it  will  be  sufficient  to  say,  that  the  deep  research 
evinced- in  this  work,  is  only  equalled  by  the  beauty  of  the  Blyle  in  which  the  hislory  of  the  most 
extraoriinaiy  nation  in- the  world  is  presented;  free  from  the  fables  with  which  it  has  too  often 
beeu  clothed,  and  far  removed  from  the  tediousness  inseparable  from  the  perusal  of  Josephus." — 
Mercantile  Advertser. 

"  Professor  H.  H.  Milman  is  one  of  the  most  chaste  and  classical  writers  of  the  age.  His  Eamptop 
I/Bctures  contain  some  of  the  most  glowing  and  eraphic  descriptions  which  we  ever  read.  Tbt 
Histon-of  the  Jews  embraced  in  the  volumes  be^re  us,  has  already  passed  through  three  editions 
in  England,  and  is  highly  and  justly  commended  by  many  of  the  most  respectable  periodicals  of  that 
country." — J\'.  V.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"  It  is  written  in  a  very  interesting  manner— in  a  more  philosophical  spirit,  and  with  more 
^eplh  of  retleciion,  than  is  generally  found  in  histories  of  this  nature.  It  is  not  wanting  io 
historical  conden=a'ion,  at  the  same  time  that  the  colouring  of  the  style  is  livdv  and  pic'iiresque." — 
A'.  F.  Evening  Post, 

"The  volumes  before  iis  are  from  the  pen  of  a  writer  who  holds  a  high  place  in  the  republic 
»f  letters,  and  contain  a  History  of  the  JewD,  the  perusal  of  which  must  prove  extremely  interest- 
ang  to  the  scholar  and  the  Christian."— TrurAt  Teller. 

'■'  Th^  name  of  the  author  alone  is  a  strong  recnnimeniition  "of  the  work.  Its  simplicity  will 
engage  fhe  attention  of  the  young  reader,  and  gratify  all.  To  youth  it  is  one  of  the  best  of  books. 
Tiie  Christian  will  be  delighted  and  instructed  by  ny— Albany  Daily  Advertiser. 

"We  feel  confident,  from  the  interesting  nature  of  the  subject,  and  the  acknowledged  talents 
of  the  Author,  that  its  success  will  be  great." — X.  V.  Commercial  Advertiser, 

"  The  name  of  Milman  is  familiar  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  as  a  scholar  and  a  poet,  and  this 
histor}  will,  it  seems  to  be  conceded  on  all  lunds,  add  largely  to  his  reputation." — N.  Y.  American. 

"  -Mr.  Milman,  whose  great  n>erits  as  a  writer  are  acknowledged  by  every  reader  of  taste  in  this 
country,  has  taken  the  facts  furnished  by  early  and  recent  ^vriters,  and  in  his  felicitous  sfy^t  has  fur 
nished  one  of  tlie  most  interesting  books  that  we  hnve  for  some  time  examined.  Notu'i'hstanding; 
the  familiarity  of  most  general  readers  with  many  of  the  circumstances  narrated  by  the  author, 
there  is  so  much  of  the  air  of  noveltj'  in  the  maimer  of  recital,  that  none  can  read  it  without 
increasing  pleasure. — l/n  ited  States  Gazette. 

"  This  is  a  work  which  must  meet  with  a  welcome  reception  among  all  classes  of  readers.  It  n 
one^of  those  rare  productions  which  unite  all  the  charms  of  novelty,  without  the  aid  of  roniance; 
and'  combine  all  the  beauties  of  elegant  and  spirited  composition,  without  diverting  at  all  ftom 
the  record  of  historical  facts.'— *4/ne»-ican  Traveller. 

"  This  History  of  the  Jews  is  the  best  we  liave  ever  seen."— A'eio-i^TJgZand  Palladium. 

"The  style  in  which  it  is  written  is  remarkably  lucid  and  elegant;  attractive  by  its  general 
smoothness' and  simplicity,  yet  animated  and  foroille.  The  work  must  be  popular, and  we  doubt 
not  ranked  among  the  classics  of  the  language."— ^aiJtmore  Republican. 

"  Tlie  irolumes  before  ua«are  occupied  by  a  learned  and  elegant  History  of  the  Jews,  by  the  Rev. 
H.  H.  Milman,  a  writer. well  known  in  the  litei-ary  world  by  majiy  successful  effort.:;  jq  jpijse 
and  versa.  A  work  of  this  kind,  arranged  to  suit  the  tas^e  of  modem  times,  and  freed  frrm  the 
rrnlixity  of  the  ancient  chronicles,  has  been  much  wanted  for  popular  circulation.  Mr.  Miimaii*5 
history  will  meet,  precisely,  the  »  ishes  of  the  public.-' — Boston  Statesman. 

'*  Mr.  Milman's  work  is  calculated  to  interest  and  instruct  a  greater  number  of  readers  of  3II 
ages,  than  any  book  which  has  been  produced  for  many  years.' — Philadelphia  Doiily  Chronicle. 

*'  No  nun  need  fear,  in  procuring  a  work  by  Dr.  Milman,  that  he  will  regret  his  purchase."— 
Morning  Herald. 

*The  Editors  have  been  most  fortunate  in  engaging  on  this  work  the  pen  of  a  scholar,  both 
classical  and  scriptural,  and  so  elegant  and  powerful  a  writer,  as  the  Poetry  Professor.  Few  tfaeolo* 
gical  v.'orks  of  this  order  have  appeared  either  in  ours  or  in  any  other  langiiage.  To  the  Christiaa 
reader  of  every  age  and  sex — and  we  may  add  of  every  sect-— it  will  be  a  source  of  the  purest  de- 
light, instruction,  and  comfort :  and  of  the  inti'lels  who  open  it  merely  that  they  may  not  remain 
in  ignorance  of  a  work  placed  by  general  consent  in  the  rank  of  an  English  classic,  is  there  not 
every  reason  to  hope  that  many  will  lay  it  down  in  a  far  different  mood  ?" 

Blackwood*t  Magazine.. 

**Th«ugh  the  subject'is  trite,  the  manner  of  treating  it  is  such  as  to  command  our  deepest  atten- 
tion. While  the  work  has  truth  and  simplicity  enough  to  fascinate  a  child,  it  ia  written  with 
a  masterliness  of  the  subject  and  an  elegance  of  co.i;positioD  that  will  please  the  most  refined  and 
fastidious  reader.'' — Edinb.  Saturday''s  Post. 


*'  The  most  popular  history  of  the  sons  of  Israel  that  has  hitherto  been  published.  The  highest 
enconium  we  can  pass  upon  the  work  under  notice  is  toTirge  its  purchase,  from  a  conviction  of  its 
Krikmg  and  permanent  worth.'' — Berkshire  Chronicle. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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